John Just Has That Effect on People
by deangirl1
Summary: Why did Bobby pull the shotgun on John?
1. Time to Kill

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing. Playing in Kripke's sandbox purely for fun. No offence and no profit intended.

**Spoilers: **Set just after AHBL2 so everything up to then is fair game.

**A/N: **I really wanted to finish and post this story before Ep. 3.10 airs. Most of the story is finished, but I may post it without including all of the chapters that I had originally intended….

I love Bobby and this is my little tribute to him and the special bond he shares with Dean.

* * *

**Time to Kill**

Dean slammed the trunk closed and moved around Sam to the driver's door. Sam moved to his usual position as shotgun.

"We'll follow you back to your place, Bobby," Dean called to the older hunter as he and Ellen climbed into Bobby's old blue truck.

Sam slid into the passenger seat and closed the door of the Impala. He was lost in thought. Dean had one year. He couldn't work up any surprise that his brother had sacrificed himself for him. He wondered if his body had even been cold before Dean had made the deal. He'd been dead. His brother was going to hell. _The hell he was_. All the time he'd spent honing his researching skills had to be for a reason, and Sam was pretty sure this was it. He was going to find a way to save his brother. Even if it meant marching into hell after him.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat of the Impala. The shaking that had started almost as soon as their father had "disappeared" wasn't getting any better. His head hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure that he'd done something to his ribs – again – when the damn demon tossed him into that headstone. His back was killing him too where the bastard had pinned him up against the headstone. He was cold and he was bone tired. In fact, he couldn't remember ever being more tired. Dean cranked on the heater as the Impala rumbled to life, pulling out behind Bobby. Truth be told, Dean always hated following anybody, being dependent on someone else to set the pace and choose the turns and stops, but tonight, he was more than thankful to have Bobby's taillights to focus on. Both sets of them. Dean's jaw muscle jumped as he put all of his concentration into following those lights.

Sam was completely lost in his own thoughts. He'd taken his jacket off just before getting into the car to be more comfortable. They'd been on the road for about an hour and a half when Sam came out of his introspection long enough to realize he was sweating. The stereo was going almost full bore, which wasn't unusual, but so was the heater – and that was a bit unusual. Sam glanced at his brother. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. In fact, he had _both _hands on the wheel, and _that_ was unusual. Dean was hunched a little forward toward the steering wheel. He was actually hunkered down into his coat and Sam could see the intermittent tremors that passed through his body – he was definitely _not_ sweating. He was _shivering_. There was a crease between Dean's eyes as he frowned at the road ahead of them, at Bobby's taillights. There was still drying blood on Dean's face from where his head had hit the tombstone and it stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his face which was unnaturally pale – at least by comparison.

"Dean, man. You alright?"

"'M fine, Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes. Why did he bother to ask?

"Don't think you are Dude. It is like a million degrees in here, and you're shivering. What gives? Why don't you pull over and let me drive?"

"'M ok. Maybe just got a little chilled sitting around in that graveyard." Dean swallowed. He wished Sam would stop talking. It was hurting his head. Thinking was making his stomach start to protest. Thinking about feeling sick was making him feel way worse. Sweat started to trickle down Dean's face. He wasn't hot. It was a cold sweat. And suddenly Dean was hauling the Impala to the shoulder and leaping out of the car. He lurched to the back of the car; leaning heavily on the trunk, Dean was violently ill. Sam came sliding up behind Dean, putting a steadying, comforting hand on his brother's back.

"Easy bro. I got your back."

In the meantime, Bobby had noticed the Impala swerve off the road and had turned around to investigate what the problem was.

Dean heaved again and again. White spots jumped in front of his eyes and his ribs cried out in agony. They probably weren't broken, but they sure as hell hadn't signed on for this abuse. The muscles in his back were also letting their presence be known as they spasmed through the heaving. Finally, the retching stopped, and Dean dragged in a deep shuddering breath – well as deep as his damn ribs would allow. His head was swimming. If he was honest with himself, he knew he'd pretty much reached his limit. Emotionally he was numb, and physically he wished he was numb.

"Sorry. I'm good." Dean pushed himself off the trunk.

"C'mon Dean. Let me drive. You look like total crap, man."

"'S ok, Sam. I got it." Dean turned to stalk back to the open driver's door. Bobby and Ellen were just getting out of his truck. _Great,_ Dean thought_, I don't look like much of an ass._ Dean attempted his favoured cocky smirk and tried desperately to come up with a snappy one liner to cover his recent trip over the technicolour yawn rainbow. He was pretty much hoping they would think he just desperately needed to check out the trunk of his car. As luck would have it, Dean was saved from having to be clever – at least for the moment – because he only managed to take one step towards his car door before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slid bonelessly to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam was on the ground beside his brother almost before he hit the ground. Bobby and Ellen came running. Sam shifted his brother's head gently into his lap from the ground which was both hard and cold. He looked up at Bobby and Ellen as they made it to Dean's side.

"What the hell, Sam? What happened?" Bobby's face was creased with anxiety.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Ellen's face was also a mask of concern.

Sam smiled slightly in spite of himself. Dean would never acknowledge that there were people in the world who cared this much about him. He gently patted his brother's cheek.

"I don't know. You know how stubborn he is. He didn't say anything was wrong, and I was a little distracted, so I didn't really pick up on anything until I realized that I was sweating it was so hot in the car and he was shivering with cold. When I asked him about it, he said…"  
"He was fine," all three chimed in with the Dean mantra at the same time and laughed despite themselves.

"Yeah. Then he pulled over, was sick, and passed out cold." Sam couldn't keep the worry out of his voice. He patted Dean's cheek a little more insistently. "C'mon Dean. Wake up for me?" Dean was still shivering, but Sam was rewarded by seeing his brother struggle to open his eyes. Finally, his eyes fluttered open and a slit of hazel gazed up at the three faces hovering over him.

"Sonuvabitch. What the hell am I doing down here? And why are you all staring at me?" Dean immediately started to try to sit up. Sam laid a restraining hand on his chest.

"Not so fast, fainting boy."

"I so did not faint."

"Yeah Dean. You pretty much did. Take your brother's advice and just stay down for a minute, will ya?" Bobby added.

Bobby, Ellen, and Sam looked at each other.

"Shock?" Ellen suggested.

"Exhaustion?" Bobby contributed.

"Concussion?" Sam offered.

"Right here people. Look down, way down," Dean hated to be shut out of any conversation.

All three looked down at Dean and said simultaneously, "All of the above."

"Let's just get back to my place to regroup. Dean can rest up there. You aren't keeping anything else from us, are you boy? You haven't got a log shoved up your sleeve or pant leg instead of a missing limb?" Bobby frowned down at Dean. Sam was struck yet again by just how much Bobby cared for his brother. He'd always known that there was some special bond between Dean and the older hunter, but he'd really only just realized how strong that bond was on Bobby's part through this last ordeal. Bobby _got _Dean. He was one of the few people who saw through the mask. He was also one of the few people that Dean couldn't deny. Dean might hate all authority figures in the "normal" world, but there were a few in the world of hunters that he obeyed without question. Dad had been one, and Bobby was another.

"Uh…" Dean hesitated.

"Spit it out," Bobby insisted.

"Ok, well my ribs and back are a little tenderized from repeated banging into a freakin tombstone." Sam gaped. Not for the first time he wished he had that kind of power over Dean. The puppy dog eyes worked most of the time, but rarely instantaneously like this.

"We'll take a closer look when we get back to my place. Let's go." Bobby bent down and helped Sam to gently help Dean to his feet. He swayed unsteadily and closed his eyes against the vertigo that assaulted him. His stomach flipped, and he clenched his jaw against the tide of nausea, managing to keep it down this time. His breathing was quick and shallow as his back and ribs protested the new position.

"You okay, Dude? I suppose the back seat is out of the question?" Sam figured he had to at least try.

"Just get me around to the passenger side." Dean ground out. "I'm not dying here." And immediately regretted the words as they left his mouth and there was a collective flinch. Even from Ellen. _Great. Bobby must've told her_. Dean thought. Part of him was relieved that she knew, but the part of him that didn't like anyone knowing the family business was annoyed. He tried for the trademark smirk as he added, "Sorry."

Bobby and Sam managed to help Dean to the passenger side and slide him in. Sam grabbed the extra blankets and a bottle of water from the trunk and covered Dean up.

"Dude, really. Stop fussing." Dean rolled his eyes and swatted ineffectively at Sam's ministrations.

"Here. Drink some of this." Sam thrust the water bottle at his brother. "You don't need to become dehydrated on top of everything else." Sam closed his brother's door and made his way to the driver's door. Bobby and Ellen started back to his truck.

"See you back at my place," Bobby shot over his shoulder.

As the Impala roared to life, Sam looked over at his brother. Dean was obviously struggling to stay awake.

"Give it up, man. Just try to relax and go to sleep. I'm gonna be waking your sorry ass up every hour or so anyway."

"'K Sammy," Dean sighed and let his eyes fall shut. His breathing deepened almost immediately as he slumped against the door and window. Sam turned his eyes to the road and concentrated on following Bobby's taillights.

* * *

It was just before dawn when they pulled into Bobby's yard. Sam had woken Dean, just as he had said he would, about every hour and a half, which went a long way to explaining Dean's reaction on being woken yet again.

"Dean? Wake up, man." Sam gently shook Dean's shoulder as he watched Bobby and Ellen make their way up the porch and into the house.

"Not again, Sam." Dean's voice was close to a whine that would do a three year old proud.

"Dean!"

"Oh, damn it. Fine. Have it your way: my name is Dean Winchester; I live in my awesome Impala; I hunt supernatural, creepy shit for a living; and I am the most awesome big brother ever. Goin' back to sleep now." Dean didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Dean, we're here, man. How about going back to sleep in a bed?" That got Dean to crack one eye.

"Oh. That would explain why we're stopped."

"Ya think?" Sam couldn't help but grin at his brother. The sleep he'd already had had helped return at least a bit of colour to his face, and Sam was pretty sure his awesome big brother _was _going to be ok. At least in the short term. Sam frowned again.

Sam swung out of the Impala and moved to Dean's side of the car. Naturally, Dean was already trying to heave himself up out of the car. Leaning heavily on the door, Dean was able to haul himself to his feet before Sam made it all the way around.

"'M fine." Sam rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time. Dean's colour, what little there was, was draining from his face and he was swaying like a drunken sailor.

"Sure you are, Captain Jack." Sam waited.

Just as Dean's knees started to buckle, Sam slipped his arm and shoulder under Dean's to support his weight. Dean groaned.

"Sam…" Dean gulped; it was a warning. Sam was ready for the heave when it came. He'd pretty much been expecting it. You just didn't change altitude that quickly with a concussion and not pay the price. Dean had only had the one bottle of water, so there wasn't much to come up, and luckily after one or two dry heaves, his stomach stopped protesting.

"Ok, Dude?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Thanks."

Bobby stuck his head back out to check on their progress.

"You two planning on joining us any time soon?"

"Comin' right now Bobby." Sam steered Dean towards the house. Bobby came down the steps and slid under Dean's other arm to help him up the stairs.

"Take him into your usual room, Sam. You should find everything you need in there."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam smiled over at their old friend. He knew that there would be a fully stocked first aid kit in the bathroom off the bedroom that he and Dean had shared ever since they first started coming to Bobby's.

Sam gently eased Dean down onto the bed closest to the door. Dean immediately tried to toe off his boots but lacked the coordination and energy to get the job done. Sam quickly bent down and undid the laces and slipped them off. Next he peeled off Dean's jacket and flannel shirt. Dean's head was hanging and his eyes were barely open. Just as he was about to slide bonelessly back to sleep, though, Sam stopped him.

"Just give me two minutes to clean up that gash on your forehead, Dude and take a look at your ribs and back. Then you can go back to sleep."

Dean grunted. "You promis'd … could….sleep…'gin…bed."

"How about you slide out of those jeans.." Sam shot back over his shoulder as he went in the bathroom. He half expected Dean to be flat out asleep and still fully dressed when he came back in. To his surprise, Dean was still more or less upright and without his jeans.

"Here." Sam handed Dean two ibuprofen and a glass of water. Dean gratefully swallowed the pain meds. He wasn't sure they'd stay down, but he was willing to give it a shot. Sam gently probed Dean's ribs. Even thought Sam was as careful as he could be and Dean tried to repress it, Dean hissed, groaned and winced at Sam's probing. Then Sam raised Dean's tshirt to inspect his torso. He wasn't at all surprised to see bruises forming in technicolour all over Dean's chest, sides, and back. There were a few minor scrapes as well, but nothing to worry about. Dean would sting in the shower for a few days, but otherwise he should be ok.

"Doesn't look too bad, man. I think we can worry about that tomorrow."

Next, Sam took the warm, damp cloth he'd brought with him from the bathroom and gently wiped the dirt away from the cut on Dean's head and then gently washed his entire face. Luckily, Sam figured he could get away with just a few butterfly bandages and no stitches. He worked as quickly as he could and then gently eased Dean back on the bed and under the covers. Noticing that Dean still seemed a bit shivery, Sam grabbed the extra blanket and bedspread off his own bed and gently laid them on Dean as well. Just as he was tucking Dean in, Bobby stuck his head in the door.

"How's he doin'?"

"I think he'll be fine after a little more sleep."

"Coffee's on if you're interested."

"Thanks, Bobby. I'll be right out." Sam moved quietly about the room, shutting off the lights. Just as he was leaving the bedroom, Dean stirred.

"Thanks, Sammy." He murmured.

"No sweat, bro. That's what I'm here for." Sam left the bedroom door slightly ajar and moved into the kitchen where Bobby was just pouring two cups of coffee.

"Where's Ellen?"

"She's making some calls, and then I think she's gonna turn in. You sure you don't want to turn in yourself?" Bobby gave Sam one of his more penetrating looks, frowning slightly.

"Naw. I'm good. At least, I want to stay up for at least a couple more checks on Dean before I turn in." Sam sank into one of the kitchen chairs making sure that he could still see the bedroom door. He gratefully took the cup of coffee Bobby handed him as Bobby joined him at the table.

"Hell of a night." Bobby said quietly.

"Yeah." Sam barely breathed his response, but it was fraught with the emotions that were still churning within him. He'd killed Jake. Dean had killed the YED. Their father had escaped from Hell – he hoped. Sam himself had died – well hadn't died _tonight_, but had it confirmed. Dean had saved them all – again – and Dean had one year to live.

"Damn, Bobby. What the hell was he thinking? What the hell are we gonna do with that stubborn ass brother of mine?" Sam raked his hand through his hair and raised pain filled eyes to Bobby under a hint of a frown.

"Well Sam, he comes by that trait honestly enough. Your Daddy was – _is _– about as pig-headed, stubborn, single-minded, and convinced of his own _rightness _as anyone else I've ever known." As always when Bobby spoke about their father, Sam could sense a number of underlying emotions in Bobby's voice. On the surface, Bobby seemed to be implacable. But Sam knew there was more to Bobby than met the eye. Certainly, he'd always been there for Sam and Dean whenever they'd needed him. Dean in particular.

"Course, those same traits are what got him out of Hell in time to help you boys tonight. I always knew when the time came, he'd do the right thing by you boys."

"So, I guess you were happy to see him tonight too, Bobby?" Sam smiled. "Didn't wish you had your shotgun handy?" Bobby chuckled at that.

"You know, Bobby, I've never heard the story about why you _did_ pull that shotgun on Dad. I asked Dean once and he just shut me down." Sam raised his eyebrows at Bobby expectantly. Bobby looked a little uncomfortable.

"It's kind of a long story, Sam. Goes back a lot of years." Sam suspected that that would be the case. Bobby wasn't the type to act on impulse. In fact, he'd seen his Dad piss Bobby off on several occasions – to quote Bobby, 'John just had that effect on people.' But Bobby never got really pissed at his Dad; Bobby was a slow burn, but when he was fully heated, he was a four-alarm fire.

"We've got time Bobby…" Sam used his best puppy eyes on Bobby. Bobby put up a good front, but he was only human and even he couldn't resist that gaze.

"Ok. Well, like I said, to really understand why I pulled a gun on your Dad, I gotta start at the beginning…"

**A/N2:** I live for reviews (yes, very shallow, I know…). Please let me know what you think. The number of chapters I am able to produce will, no doubt, be a reflection of the amount of interest there is in the story.

Some of the following chapters will be mostly whumpage, some will be mostly angsty…..


	2. Beginnings

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Playing in Kripke's sandbox. Just for fun, not for profit.

**A/N: **Still hoping to have this all posted before Thursday's NEW episode.

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

**Beginnings**

The YED was dead. They'd all made it back to Bobby's more or less in one piece. Ellen had called it a night – well it was day again, but she'd turned in. Dean was sleeping the sleep of the just or at least the concussed in what he and Sam considered to be _their_ room at Bobby's. Sam and Bobby were both still too wired to think about sleep yet, and Sam needed to stay awake for at least a little while longer to check on Dean to make sure that his concussion wasn't getting worse. So Sam and Bobby were sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, drinking coffee.

"You know, Bobby, I've never heard the story about why you _did_ pull that shotgun on Dad. I asked Dean once and he just shut me down." Sam raised his eyebrows at Bobby expectantly. Bobby looked a little uncomfortable.

"It's kind of a long story, Sam. Goes back a lot of years." Sam suspected that that would be the case. Bobby wasn't the type to act on impulse. In fact, he'd seen his Dad piss Bobby off on several occasions – to quote Bobby, 'John just had that effect on people.' But Bobby never got really pissed at his Dad; Bobby was a slow burn, but when he was fully heated, he was a four-alarm fire.

"We've got time Bobby…" Sam used his best puppy eyes on Bobby. Bobby put up a good front, but he was only human and even he couldn't resist that gaze.

"Ok. Well, like I said, to really understand why I pulled a gun on your Dad, I gotta start at the beginning…" Bobby got up from the table and opening one cupboard took down two glasses. Opening another cupboard, Bobby grabbed a bottle of Jack and returned to the table. He filled one glass and then with the bottle poised over the second glass, raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"Thanks anyway, Bobby. It's still a little early for me." Bobby just shrugged and placed the bottle back on the table. Dean was the brother who Bobby could always count on to share a glass. Sam was again struck by something else that tied Dean to Bobby. As long as Sammy could remember, Dean and Bobby had shared a special bond. Sam had experienced a similar bond with Pastor Jim. Their father had recognized the affinity between his sons and the two other hunters and had allowed them to become an extended family for the boys growing up. Sam had been angry with his father for so long, he was still trying to come to terms with how they had been raised and the decisions his father had made. John's death had been the catalyst for Sam to get past his anger and begin to understand his father. In some ways, Sam was also being forced to re-evaluate how he thought about his brother as well. Sam's struggle for understanding was in part what motivated him to push Bobby to talk about the past. He'd always hated being treated like a baby, but Sam had to admit that until recently, he had been acting like a baby – self-centred, with little or no thought that others might also have a worthy agenda, even if it was different from his own.

Bobby took a healthy pull on his drink and sucked air in over his teeth as the liquid slid home. He glanced at Sam staring earnestly at him from under his too shaggy hair. _Damn it. Maybe it would help Sam to understand who his own brother was. Why his own brother felt his life was less important than Sam's – than damn near everyone's. Hell, maybe it would help him to understand…_

Bobby took a deep breath. It was always best to start at the beginning. Bobby was nothing if not methodical and thorough – something else he and Dean had in common.

"So. The first time I met your dad, you were only about 9 or 10 months old and Dean was five…"

Bobby didn't do kids. He'd only agreed to let this Winchester guy stop by because Jefferson had called him and recommended the guy. According to Jefferson, this Winchester guy was just getting into hunting, but he was good. Good enough to make a real difference. So Bobby had agreed to let the guy come by and pick up a few books and he'd even agreed to answer a few questions. Nobody had said anything about kids. What did you say to a kid? Bobby had no idea. Kids made a lot of noise and a lot of mess and if you were really unlucky, they broke shit. So, when John showed up with two kids in tow, he really wasn't making a good first impression.

Bobby opened the door to John's knock.

"You Bobby?" John asked.

"Yep." Bobby opened the screen to let him in, looking at the baby John held in a car seat over one arm and the five year old shadowing him. Bobby also took in the intensity of John's stare and his undeniable military bearing. The military bearing earned him some points back. Jefferson had said that John had been a marine and that held stock with Bobby as a fellow vet. The handshake was firm and dry. Bobby watched as John took in his surroundings. He was surreptitious but thorough – more evidence of the military training. Bobby nodded internally; maybe Jefferson was right about this guy.

"These are my boys. Sam and Dean," John indicated the baby and the boy standing slightly behind him as if hoping not to be noticed.

"Is it ok if I leave my kids in your living room, here, while we talk?" John indicated the room with a nod of his head.

"Sure." _Great. No doubt this is where I start to get shit broken…_

"Dean." John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and bent to look him in the eye. Bobby was struck by the look on the kid's face. He was there, but in some way he also wasn't. There was virtually no expression on his face. It was a bit unnerving. "Sit here and watch Sammy. This is Bobby. I'm going to be talking to him in this other room, ok, kiddo?"

The only response from Dean was a small nod and he moved into the other room. Instead of sitting on the couch that John had indicated, however, the kid insisted on sitting on the floor in front of his sleeping brother who John had placed on the floor in the car seat. John sighed. He turned to Bobby.

"Jefferson told me you were the leading expert on demons."

"In some circles," Bobby acquiesced. He was a little surprised that John was willing to discuss any of this in front of the little boy. "Why don't we step into my study. I've got those books you were asking about."

Bobby continued when they reached the other room. "So what's your sudden interest in demons and hunting? Jefferson tells me you were a happily ignorant 'civilian' up until a few months ago."

John pulled in a long breath. "Yeah, well my family had kind of a life changing experience in November. My wife was killed. Pinned to the ceiling, sliced open, and set on fire. I want to know what did it 'cuz I'm gonna kill the sonuvabitch." There was no mistaking the intensity of John's words; they were laced with sorrow, hatred, and a growing need for revenge. Bobby recognized that John could go in a number of different directions. He could be a positive force for the community of hunters who tried to keep ignorant 'civilians' safe, or he could become a loose cannon who was a danger to himself and any other hunter who crossed his path. And that was why Bobby spent the entire afternoon with John. He began John's education on demons. He told him that it might have been a demon, but there were other things it might also have been. If it was a demon, demons were tricky. They weren't just always around and there were a lot of demons out there. It might be a long time before John knew which demon had killed his wife, and it might be an even longer time before there was any way of tracking down a specific demon.

Bobby wasn't exactly a model host. He didn't have company often, but eventually, he got thirsty himself and thought to ask John if he'd like a cup of coffee. As an after thought, Bobby also asked if the kids needed anything.

"I'll just check on Sammy. He could probably use some juice, but I've got a bottle in the car. Dean'll go get it, if Sam's awake." Bobby noticed that John seemed to have forgotten that probably _both_ boys needed to eat and drink. Looking in the living room, Bobby was startled to see that Dean had apparently not moved from his vigil in front of his brother.

_Well, I guess he's not too likely to break anything then_, Bobby thought with an internal shrug and frown.

Dean's head turned at the sound of his father's approach. Sam was just starting to stir. And stir he did – he drew in a deep breath and his face instantly became red, and then he just began to wail. Dean immediately turned back to his brother, rubbing his stomach softly and making quiet shushing noises. Bobby realized this was the first sound he had heard him utter since meeting him. John's face creased in a frown.

"I'm afraid he's a bit colicky. Dean? Can you run out to the car and grab Sammy's medicine and juice?" John quickly turned his attention to the baby. Carefully removing him from the car seat, John set about trying to soothe the baby. Dean ghosted out of the room and returned quickly carrying a small bag, handing a bottle of something to John, who proceeded to give the medicine to the baby. Dean hovered.

"Hop up on the couch, sport." John directed Dean, and Bobby was a bit surprised when John just put the baby in Dean's arms and Dean proceeded to quiet the baby and give him the bottle of juice.

John ran a hand over his face. "Did you mention coffee?"  
"Yeah. I'll just go put it on."

"Dean? Did you get some juice for yourself while you were at the car?"

The little boy pulled a juice box out of his pocket.

"Make sure you drink that." John ordered. Bobby had to admit that he was relieved to see that on some level this Winchester guy did realize he was travelling around the country with _two _boys. Bobby had to admit, though, that the guy had a right to be pretty messed up. He'd just lost his wife, became a single parent, and found out that there was a whole lot of shit out in the world that wanted to kill you as soon as look at you.

Bobby and John sat at the kitchen table drinking their second cup of coffee. Sam's wails had gradually ceased and there was a bit of giggling and gurgling now from time to time. John seemed to have run out of questions for now, and Bobby took the opportunity to study his new acquaintance. The guy was haggard – at least Bobby assumed he probably looked better on a regular day. But he was smart; he'd asked the right questions in the right order. He carried himself like he could handle himself in a tough situation. With a little help this guy could make it.

"Anybody introduce you to Pastor Jim, yet?" Bobby asked.

"A preacher?" John was incredulous to say the least. "I'm not really much on religion. That was kinda my wife's thing…"  
"Jim's a hunter; same as you and me. He just happens to preach as his full-time job. He's a good resource too. He's in Blue Earth, Minnesota."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't mention it." Bobby figured if anybody could help this guy and his kids, it was Pastor Jim. He wouldn't shove the religion down the guy's throat if he didn't want it, but he could be very persuasive in convincing people to _take_ help. After all, that was Jim's day-job. Bobby got the definite impression that this guy would need a lot of help being convinced to take help. Bobby got Jim's contact numbers and handed them to John.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life or making any comment on it. Hell, we just met, but I'm sensing that you didn't plan on being a single parent." Bobby held up a hand at the thunderstorm that crossed John's face. "Just give Jim a call is all I'm saying. He can help with more than just the supernatural shit that's out there. But don't under estimate what he can teach you about the supernatural either."

"Thanks for the advice." John took the contact information and tucked it into the journal he'd been taking notes in all afternoon. Bobby could only hope he'd call Jim sooner rather than later.

"We'll be getting out of your hair now. I want to make it to decent motel for the night. Is there a decent one in town? Maybe with a diner?"

"Yeah. Just follow the main road and you can't miss it."

John stood up and made his way back to the living room. Dean was bouncing the baby. Both boys had a smile on their faces. There was evidence that Dean had changed Sam's diaper in addition to giving him the drink.

"Ready to go, sport?" John ruffled Dean's hair as he took the baby from him and put him back in the car seat. Dean simply slid off the couch and gathered up Sam's things and stuffed them in the little bag: the bottle, a teddy bear, the used diaper. Bobby had to wonder if this guy actually needed anyone other than the five year old to look after the baby. Then he thought better of it. Only another hunter could watch your kids for you while you hunted. 'Civilians' tended to ask awkward questions when you came home after a hunt didn't go quite as planned. One thing John hadn't learned yet, Bobby thought, was how much he would need to protect his kids if he was going to continue with this lifestyle.

John thrust his hand at Bobby. "Again, thanks for your help."  
"Any time. Hunters need to stick together." Bobby held the door for John and watched as he placed the car seat carefully in the back seat of the black Impala. Dean waited, immobile behind his father. As soon as John moved, however, Dean scooted into the back seat beside his brother.

It wasn't until they were headed down the drive that Bobby realized he hadn't heard Dean utter a single word in the entire afternoon he'd been in his house.

"I was real relieved when I heard from Jim that your dad had contacted him. Your dad and Jim hit it off, and for once that stubborn Winchester pride didn't get in the way – your dad actually did let Jim help." Bobby got up and got the coffee pot to refill Sam's mug. He poured himself another mug of coffee and this time just added the Jack to the coffee. Bobby sat back down before continuing.

"That meant that while I did see your dad from time to time over the next few years, I didn't actually see you and Dean until your dad ran into some trouble…."

TBC

A/N2: So, not a lot of action in this one, but I promise there be whumpage ahead – just not in every chapter….

So? Let me know what you think!!!! Reviews will make me finish sooner…..


	3. Life Lessons

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Kripke's sandbox (which I am hoping he will be back in VERY soon!!!) Just for fun; not for profit!

**A/N:** This is my least favourite chapter of this story…. But it needs to be here so please bear with me. It does contain my favourite line of this story though…..

**Life Lessons**

Sam stared intently at Bobby. He was still a bit shell shocked by everything that had happened in the last few days and watching and listening to the normally reticent Bobby Singer take a walk down memory lane was right up there with the rest of the shocks. He'd known Bobby for what felt like his whole life, but he couldn't remember Bobby ever talking this long unless it was about how to kill/exorcise/hunt demons – and a few other bad-ass evil things. Sam remembered the many occasions when Bobby and his Dad would talk shop over a bottle of Jack. Dean had probably been around seventeen when he'd joined them at the table "officially". Sam had never been much of a drinker and was more interested in studying in his free time at seventeen.

As Sam remembered it, Bobby and his Dad got along pretty well – as well as John Winchester got along with anybody. They should have gotten along well, considering how much the two actually had in common: both had a military background, both were skilled mechanics and shared a love for old classics, both were dedicated to killing as many evil sons-of-bitches as they could, and both really enjoyed a good slug of Jack.

His and Dean's childhood might not have been normal by any stretch of anybody's imagination, but as Dean was so fond of pointing out, who could say or would want to say that their childhood wasn't unique in its own way? What was "normal"? And why was "normal" better anyway? Sam hadn't had a mother. He'd had Dean. They'd had a father. And they had had Bobby and Pastor Jim. It was a bit of an odd extended family, but Sam had always felt like he had a family. He'd tried "normal", and he'd never felt more alone in his life – until Jess. But even then, there had been something missing. Or someone…. Sam thought he heard a noise and turned toward the door to the bedroom he shared with Dean.

"Sam?"

"Sorry Bobby. Thought I heard something. It's just Dean snoring. I'm listening." Sam turned back to Bobby. "Listening to you, Bobby."

"Like I said, after that first time, I saw your Dad from time to time when he'd drop by for some information or we'd cross paths hunting, but I didn't see you or Dean for a while. Mostly, if your Dad had to leave you boys, he'd leave you with Pastor Jim, but on this particular occasion, Jim was out of town on a hunt and your Dad was a little desperate, so he brought you both out here.

Bobby was surprised to see John Winchester upon opening his door. And even more surprised to see that he had his two sons with him.

"John."

"Bobby."  
"Didn't know you were coming. Come on in," Bobby swung the door wide and stepped back.

"I didn't know I was coming myself, actually, Bobby. I need to ask a favour of you. I hate to impose, but Jim's out of state on a hunt of his own…" John trailed off. The three Winchesters had made it into Bobby's living room. Dean was hot on his father's heels and carried the two year old Sam who looked like he had just woken up and was blinking in his surroundings somewhat owlishly. Bobby thought it could go either way with the younger kid. He might just take it all in, or he might be about to start the water works. Bobby knew just enough about kids to realize that those were the two options. He quickly looked back to John.

"What can I do for you, John?"

"Like I said, I hate to ask, but Jim's unavailable, and I'm in the middle of something, and I can't take the boys. I was hoping that I might leave them here with you? It would only be for a day tops. Maybe less, depending on how things go."

Bobby looked uncomfortable.

"I don't know much about kids, John. I'd like to help, I really would."

"You don't need to know anything Bobby. Dean can take care of Sam and himself. Bobby, I wouldn't ask if lives weren't at stake." John's voice carried the conviction of his words.

"Well… okay…sure…as long as you're sure you won't be gone long. You sure you don't need back up on this?"

"No. I can take care of this myself, but it has to be today – there's a cycle to the incidents, and the next one should be tonight."

Dean watched the exchange between the adults intently. His large hazel eyes switching back and forth between Bobby and his father. He quickly grasped that his father was "hunting" something that was killing people, and it was up to his Dad to stop whatever it was from hurting anyone else. This was his Dad's job: his Dad was a hero. Dean also sensed the other man's reluctance to let him and Sammy stay with him. It was Dean's job to insure that his Dad could do his. Lives depended on it. Standing a little straighter, Dean turned his attention to Sam, murmuring to him to keep him happy in his somewhat just-woke-up-want-to-be-cranky state. Nobody liked a crying kid after all.

"They can share this bedroom back here," Bobby moved towards an open door and led them in. It was neat and clean. There were two single beds with a night table between them and a bathroom through another door. "Can the little one sleep in a bed?"

"Yeah, and he can feed himself and talk and he…" Bobby was a bit taken aback by Dean's outburst; the boy was clearly offended by the perceived slur against his brother.  
"Dean! That's quite enough. It was a perfectly legitimate question. Where is your respect for your elders?"

"Sorry, sir." Dean looked at the ground.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Singer, sir."

"That's ok, Dean. And you call me Bobby – Mr. Singer was my dad, and a scary s.o.b to boot! I just want to make sure that you and your brother will be comfortable while you're staying here, that's all." Bobby was rewarded with a small smile. Bobby was impressed with the boy's manners and his respect for his father. Truth be told, he was also relieved to hear him speak. Pastor Jim had told Bobby that the boy had stopped talking after his mother had been killed and had only recently really started to talk again.

"Dean, why don't you and Sammy play quietly in here for now. I've got some questions for Bobby before I go. I'll bring in your things and say goodbye before I go. Ok, kiddo?" John squeezed the elder boys shoulder and smiled down at him. Dean nodded his head and put his brother down on the floor. Sam immediately started scooting about the room exploring.

"C'mon Dea, let's play go seek," Sam called to his brother. Dean rolled his eyes but was still smiling softly as he moved towards his brother. John and Bobby returned to the living room.

"Thanks again, Bobby. They're good boys. They won't give you any trouble."

"It's no trouble. I've told you before, hunters got to look out for hunters."

John got the last of the information he thought he'd need from Bobby and grabbed the boys' overnight bags from the trunk of the Impala. As he re-entered the bedroom, he found Dean keeping Sammy busy playing some game that had the toddler scooting about the room. It was Dean's subtle way of making sure that Sam would be tired and cooperative come bedtime.

"Ok, Dean. You're in charge of your little brother until I get back. You do whatever Bobby asks you to do and make sure that you are respectful and stay out of his hair. I don't want the two of you to be a nuisance. Bobby's doing us a favour by letting you stay here while I'm away."

"Where are you going Dad?" Dean's large hazel eyes searched his father's brown ones.

"Not far kiddo. I'll be back tomorrow for sure. I promise." John ruffled Dean's hair and strode out of the bedroom.

It wasn't until Dean heard the front door close that he responded with a quiet, "Be careful, Daddy." And then turned back to his little brother.

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It was after midnight the following night that John staggered back to Bobby's door, bloody and battered in more than just a physical way. Bobby was ready for him. He sat him down at the kitchen table and put a glass and a bottle of Jack in front of him while he silently patched him up.

Bobby made small talk by assuring John that the boys had been no trouble. Dean had looked after all of Sam's needs, including baths, bedtime stories, _bedtime_, meals, and amusement. In addition, he'd been respectful and offered to help clean up after meals. Bobby had actually been a little taken aback at just how self-sufficient Dean was.

John didn't speak until after he'd had three glasses of Jack. Bobby was almost finished cleaning the various gashes on John's arms, face, and neck.

"They were just kids, Bobby." The voice was haunted and barely a whisper.

"I know." Bobby figured this would be a rough hunt for the relatively new hunter, especially with him having kids and all.

John had been tracking what he at first thought was a vengeful spirit but finally realized was a demon possessing children and killing other children. Putting that demon back in hell would not have been pretty. This was the kind of shit you either learned to deal with or the life dragged you under. You couldn't save everyone, and at the end of the day, you had to live with that and be happy about the ones you could save.

"Your room's at the top of the stairs when you're ready for it." Bobby squeezed John's shoulder and left him with the whiskey.

Dean had heard the Impala pull into the yard. Its rumble was unmistakable as the sound of home to him. He heard his father stumble through the door and watched from his cracked bedroom door as Bobby helped him into the kitchen. Dean gasped and held back tears at the sight of his father's bloody and beaten frame. In the short time John had been hunting, Dean had already learned to accept that his Dad got hurt from time to time, so it wasn't the blood that he found so disturbing, it was the anguish that was clearly etched on John's face. That's what pierced Dean's very soul. Dean slipped out of the bedroom as soon as he saw Bobby make his way up the stairs.

"Dad?" he said softly, not wanting to startle him.

John turned his pain-filled eyes to his eldest son.

"It's ok, Dad. It'll be ok." Dean squeezed his father's shoulder and rubbed a hand up and down his back in comfort.

The words were spoken softly, but Bobby still heard them from the top of the stairs.

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John slept late the next day, finally emerging at about noon. The boys had had their breakfast with Bobby, and after setting Sammy up with some toys on the floor, Dean had helped clean up. Then both boys had simply played quietly until John finally came slowly down the stairs. Sammy immediately dashed across the room and flung himself at his father.

"Daddy!" the little boy cried, as John scooped him up in a bear hug, kissing the top of his shaggy head. Dean stood and watched the scene with a gentle smile playing across his lips.

Bobby had been out in the garage for the morning but had just returned to see about some lunch for the boys.

"Think you could eat a couple of sandwiches?" Bobby asked.

"Thanks, Bobby. I do believe I could." John's mouth quirked up in a half smile.

The four sat down to a hearty lunch. Sammy chattered away in his two-year-old English and told his Dad all about the time they had been apart. John listened patiently with a ghost of a smile on his face.

Bobby could tell the events of this last hunt had made quite an impression on the relatively new hunter. Bobby couldn't help but be reasonably impressed with how John was coping. It was sometimes necessary to do truly horrible things to secure the safety of the greatest number. It wasn't an easy burden to bear and was one reason a lot of hunters burned out. Bobby was, on the other hand, relieved to see that John _was_ bothered by this hunt. It was too easy to just stop feeling anything to avoid the pain of having a conscience. John's very focussed need for revenge on the thing that had killed his wife made him a likely candidate for door number two. Bobby hoped that John's sons would be the motivation to keep him grounded in humanity.

"Bobby? I hate to be more of a nuisance than I already have been, but –" John didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.

"Don't even think you're in any shape to drive off into the sunset just yet Winchester. Stay another night anyway. I could use your opinion on something I'm working on anyway." Trust Bobby to make it seem like staying would be John doing him a favour.

"Sure thing. I'm happy to help if I can." John was grateful to the more experienced hunter. He'd learned a lot from Bobby and had made most of his really valuable contacts through him. He still had one more favour to ask of him though.

"Bobby? You got any empty bottles I could use for a little target practice out back?"

"Sure? You getting rusty or something?" As an ex-marine, Bobby seriously doubted that John was desperate for target practice. Maybe just blowing off some steam? What John said next, however, made Bobby's blood run cold.

"I think it's time Dean learned how to handle a gun." Dean hadn't been paying a lot of attention to the conversation, but _that _definitely got his full and undivided attention.

"Don't think he's maybe a bit young?" Bobby offered. It was one thing to choose this life for yourself but to thrust a child into it….well, that bothered Bobby.

Both Dean and John glared at Bobby, however.

"After what I saw last night, I want my boy to be able to protect and defend himself." Ok. Bobby could be good with that. He shrugged.

"I'll set you up as soon as I'm finished clearing away here." Bobby turned to the remnants of lunch.

Dean put Sam down for a nap – with much protesting and demanding of stories and water. John was waiting for Dean as he exited the bedroom.

"Ready sport?"

"Sure, Dad. What about Sammy?"

"Bobby said he has some work to do in here for a while, so he'll keep an ear open for Sam. We'll just be out back."

Bobby watched as father and son exited the house. He'd helped John set up a make-shift firing range behind the house. Bobby had no neighbours, so the gunshots wouldn't attract any notice. Except for Bobby, who heard them faintly. Shortly after the last shots, father and son returned. Both were beaming with pride.

"Hey Bobby! Guess what?" Dean fairly crowed. Bobby was sure he'd never see a bigger smile than the one that was plastered over Dean's face. Unless it was the one on John's face.

"What?" Bobby took the bait.

"I got every one!"

"Good for you, son!" Bobby gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze.

"I think the boy's a natural." John's voice was full of the pride that shone in his face as Dean disappeared into the bedroom to check on Sam, who hadn't stirred once despite the gunshots.

Bobby paused as Sam looked at his watch.

"Time to ask Dean his favourite twenty questions." Sam stood and stretched, moving to the door of the bedroom and quietly pushing it open.

"Dean?" Sam saw his brother shift and begin to waken. He moved to his side and laying his hand on his shoulder, gently shook him. Ordinarily Sam would never do that, but he hadn't let Dean put the bowie knife under the pillow. As it turned out, Dean woke peacefully with a very soft groan. He cracked one hazel eye ever so slightly and there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

"My name is Dean Winchester; I live in my awesome Impala; I hunt supernatural, creepy shit for a living; and I am the most awesome big brother ever. Goin' back to sleep now."

A/N: So… not a lot of action – but really, really there be whumpage in the next chapter – promise…. So does this chapter really suck as badly as I think it does…hides


	4. Trust

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine. Borrowed from Kripke's sandbox. Not for profit - all about the fun.

**Warning: **Language gets a bit spicier in this chapter

**A/N:** So if the last chapter was the least satisfying for me, this one is perhaps my favourite. Except for the last one (ooo --- is that a bit of a tease??) ;)

* * *

"Time to ask Dean his favourite twenty questions." Sam stood and stretched, moving to the door of the bedroom and quietly pushing it open. 

"Dean?" Sam saw his brother shift and begin to waken. He moved to his side and laying his hand on his shoulder, gently shook him. Ordinarily Sam would never do that, but he hadn't let Dean put the bowie knife under the pillow. As it turned out, Dean woke peacefully with a very soft groan. He cracked one hazel eye ever so slightly and there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

"My name is Dean Winchester; I live in my awesome Impala; I hunt supernatural, creepy shit for a living; and I am the most awesome big brother ever. Goin' back to sleep now."

"It's a good thing your brother has a hard skull, a resilient brain, and a stubborn streak as wide as Texas, given the number of times I've heard him recite that," Bobby chuckled as Sam returned to the kitchen table and sank back into his seat. The smile faded from Bobby's face as he was drawn back to the past again.

"I think I've only ever heard him screw it up once or twice….You remember those witches you all ran into in North Dakota that time when you were about 13 or 14?"

"Yeah. Hard to forget. We didn't all end up in hospital at the same time very often." Sam's mouth quirked at the side in a half smile, and he looked at the table in front of him.

"About as often as your brother ever asked for help…"

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The phone was ringing when Bobby came in the house.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me Bobby. I um…"

"Everything ok son?"

"Um…well…no…um…not really…" Dean's voice was off somehow. It wasn't just the lack of a coherent answer to a simple question. There was a raw emotion in his voice that Bobby wasn't used to hearing.

"Take a breath. Where are you?"

"St. Mary's Hospital. Oakes, North Dakota."

Bobby waited for more information. None was forthcoming.

"Why are you there, Dean?" Bobby questioned gently.

"It's Dad and Sammy. They're here. I…I think I need some help, Bobby."

Finally.

"What happened, Dean? How can I help? Do you want me to come?"

"There was a coven. The hunt went bad. They're both knocked up a bit, but they shouldn't be…..but they are….. and the doctors can't help them and they don't know if they'll wake up on their own and I think it was the witches…but I don't know," Dean's words and thoughts tumbled out now that he'd decided to release them.

"Dean? What exactly is wrong with John and Sam, son?" Bobby probed gently. Dean was very obviously on the edge, but Bobby needed to know to be able to help.

"The doctors are calling it…um…a…c…coma." Dean's voice faltered and faded to nothing.

"You think it was the witches?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Dunno."

"Weren't you there?"

"Um, yeah. I was there." Dean's voice was completely flat. Warning bells went off in Bobby's head.

"What do you remember, Dean?"

"Sweet fuck all!" Dean barked down the line.

"Concussion?"

"So they tell me." Dean's voice lowered again. It sounded like gravel rolling around in a can.

"What _do _you remember, Dean?"

"Chanting? Maybe. Flying bodies. Definitely."

"Was it a hex?"

"Think so." Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Dean? Are you okay? Have you been admitted?"

"'M fine. They released me."

"You know the drill, Dean. What are the magic answers?"

"My name is Dean Winchester – but not today, umm… today it was P-somethin'…, I..um… hunt supernatural, creepy stuff for a hobby, and I…um…Sammy's my little brother…"

Well, two out of four wasn't bad. Bobby could hardly fault the kid for not being able to remember where he was living _this _week or what his current alias was supposed to be and Bobby had a feeling that missing the last one had more to do with not believing it than not remembering it.

"Look. I can be there in a couple of hours. I'll bring along some stuff to deal with the hex."

"I don't want to bother you. Could you just tell me what to do over the phone? Dad'll kill me for calling…."

"Screw your Dad. I'm coming Dean, and that's all there is to it. I'll deal with John."

They both hung up. Dean sagged against the pay phone, head pressed into the cool plastic of the headset.

"Thanks, Bobby," he breathed.

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When Bobby arrived at the hospital, Dean was waiting for him. Pacing back and forth in front of the main doors, he was both a moving target and an obstacle. Bobby had the distinct impression that if Dean stopped moving he might be down for the count. The kid looked like Hell. In fact, he looked like Hell on a bad day. He was pale and was sporting a massive, darkening bruise on the left side of his face. Snaking through the bruise across his forehead and into his hairline was a string of new stitches. A lot of stitches. Dean's eyes were large and glassy, the pupils huge. His clothing was caked with dried blood. Needless to say, most of the other visitors to the hospital were giving him a wide berth.

"Dean!"

Dean started at the sound of his own name and wheeled around to find Bobby. The sudden turn almost landed the younger hunter on the ground. Bobby placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze while he was at it.

"Bobby," Dean's voice was weaker than Bobby would have liked but a ghost of a smile and unabashed relief flitted across his pale face, "Thanks for coming…"

"Are you sure they released you kid?"

"Yeah. I'm out aren't I?" Dean avoided looking directly at Bobby.

"Not sure I'm thinking too much of their medical expertise here, then."

"So, I might have signed myself out AMA." Dean admitted and followed it up with a glare of defiance.

"You aren't old enough to do that, Dean."

"My i.d. says that I am Bobby. And it says that, for just such occasions as this. Sammy and Dad are bad. They don't need my sorry ass lolling around in some damn bed."

Bobby looked at the young hunter. Nature would run its course as soon as he came off the adrenaline high he was on. Bobby was sure that Dean was not going to maintain his visitor-only status for very long. But it wasn't worth fighting about when they had a job to do.

"Where are your Dad and Sammy?"

"Sam's this way," Dean turned and started down the hall.

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Bobby hated seeing his friends in hospital, and he really hated seeing his friends' kids in hospital. Sam was hooked up to the usual assortment of IVs and machines, but other than having his arm in a cast, he looked for all the world like he was just sleeping. Honestly, Dean looked a lot worse.

Bobby moved to the side of the bed. He gently smoothed Sam's hair and watched as he slept. Dean took up his position on the other side of the bed.

"How long has he been like this?"

"Since we got here. The doctor says there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him other than the broken arm and the fact that he won't wake up." Dean held Sam's hand in his and his eyes never left his brother's face as he spoke.

Bobby moved to the side of the room where there were some chairs for visitors and dropped the duffle bag he was carrying onto one of them.

Bobby and Dean both looked at the door as a doctor entered. She was in her forties and had a no nonsense air about her. She looked from Dean to Bobby and raised her eyebrows.

"Uh, Dr. Blake? This is my ..um… Uncle Bobby. I took your advice when you said to call someone." Dean greeted the new arrival.

"Hi. Bobby Singer. I'm their mother's brother….What can you tell me about Sam and John's condition?" Bobby moved toward the doctor as he spoke and shook her hand.

Dean's mouth twitched in a hint of a smirk at Bobby's explanation for his kinship. He knew that Bobby and his Dad were close, but he also knew that Bobby would be pissed enough at John for them getting hurt that he would never pretend to be John's brother. Course, it also simplified keeping identities from getting muddled. Bobby had no way of knowing that they were currently Sam, Dean, and John Pinkerton according to their current insurance cards.

"Well, Mr. Singer, I'm afraid that I can't tell you very much. Both John and Sam are stable and their vital signs are all normal and strong. Sam has a broken wrist that will have to remain in a cast for about six weeks. John had a head wound that needed ten stitches and a cut on his arm that needed 20. In addition, John has two broken ribs and one cracked rib. Both of my patients are, however, unconscious and unresponsive. We thought at first that John's at least would be explained by his head injury, but all his tests came back normal."

The doctor paused and looked to see if Bobby had any questions. When it appeared that he didn't, she continued. As she talked, she looked through Sam's chart and made some notes on it.

"We would like to wait for another 24 hours and then run some more tests. We can assess if there have been any changes at that time and then decide on the best course of action from there."

"Fine." Bobby had no questions. He knew that what ailed Sam and John was now supernatural in nature. The doctor had done all she could to heal the physical effects of the hunt. Now it was time for Bobby to finish the job.

"If you have no questions about Sam and John, perhaps you'd like a quick update on your other nephew's condition?"

Dean's head whipped up at that and his attention was quickly focused on the doctor.

"Hey! What about patient confidentiality and all that?" Dean protested.

"Shut up, Dean. Ya, doc, I'd very much like to know how Dean is doing." Bobby's glance shifted to Dean with a scowl and then back to the doctor.

"As I'm sure he's told you, he signed himself out AMA against strong medical advice to the contrary. He has a fairly severe concussion with its attendant nausea and vertigo. He was unconscious himself for about three hours that we can be sure about. He has three broken ribs, 25 stitches in his head and another 25 in a cut on his back."

Dean glared at the woman. Bobby nodded in acknowledgment.

"I will be checking on Sam and John regularly for the next several hours. If you have any questions, you can have me paged." And with that she turned and exited the room.

"Ok. Now that she's gone, we can get to work. I have one spell that should dispel any hex. Do you remember anything else about the coven that might be helpful?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at Dean. He had briefly considered giving the boy hell again for signing himself out of the hospital, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Bobby hated the fact that Dean was obviously blaming himself for what had happened. There was no evidence that any of this was Dean's fault, but because he couldn't remember and he wasn't in a coma-like state, Dean was all set to take the blame for the hunt going wrong. Typical Dean behaviour. Bobby shook his head again.

"I remember going over the research before we left. Dad figured a simple wicca based coven. Nothing too sinister until about a month ago when two men had gone missing. Before that, there had been some shit going on that clearly indicated a coven operating in the area." Dean carefully ran his hand through his short hair. His head was killing him, and it seemed to be harder and harder just to stand.

Bobby slid one of the chairs in behind Dean and gently but firmly pressed the boy into it. Bobby was a little surprised when Dean didn't protest and simple sank gratefully into the chair.

Dean cleared his throat and added just above a whisper, "But I don't remember anything that happened after we got in the Impala to come here, Bobby. I don't remember anything about the actual witches or what happened."

"Then how did you know what to tell me when I asked? You said chanting and flying bodies…"

"Best guess?" Dean laughed softly but seemed to choke off into what might have been a sob. "I knew we'd left to hunt witches…witches chant, don't they? We're all pretty banged up, so flying bodies seemed a strong possibility…."

"Don't worry, Dean. My spell will work. You sit and watch, and keep Sammy calm."

Bobby squeezed the teen's shoulder gently. He hoped like hell that this was the simple spell that he thought it was. Simple in that he knew how to get rid of it, but if Dean hadn't called, it would have eventually proven fatal for the two hunters.

Moving back to his duffle bag, Bobby pulled out three vials and two books. Glancing quickly at the covers, he laid one on the chair and placed the other back in the bag. Bobby brought the book and vials to the bedside table. Placing the vials in a row on the table, Bobby quickly flipped through the ancient looking text for the pages he wanted, leaving the book open when he got there.

As Dean watched attentively, Bobby took the first vial and dabbed a drop of the liquid from it on Sammy's forehead.

"Dean? Can you lay Sammy's arms straight beside his body with the palms of his hands up?"

Dean moved quickly to do as Bobby asked. He was used to following his father's orders and didn't waste time asking questions. He knew that there would be time to ask Bobby later about anything he didn't understand or was curious about. Unfortunately, Dean stood up too quickly and had to grasp the guard rails on the bed to keep from landing on the floor as the world spun crazily around him. Bobby quickly grasped Dean's arm to help ground him.

"You ok, son? Gonna make it, or do you want to sit this one out?"

"NO! I'm fine," Dean ground out.

No way in hell was he getting sidelined as long as his family needed him. He clenched his teeth and swallowed thickly to force the nausea down. He let go of the bed and reached to place Sam's arms as Bobby had requested.

Bobby next dabbed a drop of the first vial's contents on each of Sam's palms. Setting the first vial down, Bobby picked up the second. The smell of the contents of the second vial had Dean gagging. Bobby chuckled.

"This is pretty potent stuff. It'll do the trick though," he assured the teen. He watched Dean to be sure that the smell wasn't going to send his already rebelling stomach over the edge. Bobby knew from personal experience, how much havoc even a mild concussion could play with your digestive system. When he was pretty sure Dean was ok, Bobby continued.

Taking a bit of the nasty liquid from the second vial, Bobby drew a circle around the drops of the first vial on Sam's forehead and palms. Then he went to the foot of the bed and drawing up the covers, Bobby placed a drop of the smelly liquid on each of Sam's feet.

Finally, Bobby took the third vial and placed one drop from it on each of Sam's cheeks and chin, Then he went back to the foot of the bed and drew circles around each of the drops there.

Dean was looking eagerly at his brother, but so far, there seemed to be no change in his condition.

"Ok, Dean," Bobby kept repeating Dean's name in an effort to help the boy stay grounded, "this is where things get interesting." Bobby picked up the book and began to chant the spell that he found there.

Dean realized it was in Latin. Dean was even more glad that Bobby had come. He could read Latin and speak it, but Dean would not have trusted his pronunciation to save his brother or father. Sam began to mutter in his sleep and move restlessly as Bobby progressed through the ritual – it was working!

"Come on, little bro…. Time to wake up," Dean's voice was low and persuasive. Cajoling his little brother to get up in the morning had pretty much always been his job since Sammy was a baby.

Dean wasn't disappointed. Bobby finished the chant and set the book down. Almost immediately, Sam's eyelids began to flutter.

"That's it Sammy. Wake up, dude. I need to see you…." Dean's voice was almost spent.

Finally, he was rewarded with a hint of colour, as Sam managed to open his eyes and immediately sought out his older brother. Dean's legs almost buckled as relief flooded over him.

"Sammy?"

"Dean? What happened? Where's Dad?"

"He's gonna be ok, kiddo. How do you feel?"

"Tired. Thirsty? Mhmm, my arm?" Sam glanced at the new cast.

"Yeah. You broke your wrist there, uber-geek. Lucky it was your left one."

Bobby stepped in with a glass of water.

"Bobby! When did you get here?"

"Been here a while." Bobby raised the head of the bed slightly and helped Sam take a sip of water. Bobby also pressed the button to call the nurse.

"Thanks Bobby." Sam said gratefully when he'd had a few sips of water.

"You pressed the….oh! He's awake! I'll get Dr. Blake here right away," the nurse had barely popped her head in the door before she had completely assessed the situation.

Dr. Blake arrived in less than five minutes. Just long enough for Dean and Bobby to remove the physical evidence of the ritual from Sam's body. She quickly and efficiently examined Sam, pronouncing him just short of a miracle.

"Honestly, if I didn't pride myself on my strictly analytical and scientific outlook, I would call this a miracle. You seem pretty well, one hundred percent recovered, Sam. I'll want to do some more tests tomorrow, but for now, just get some rest." And with that, the doctor left to complete her rounds.

"You ok, Dean?" Sam asked as soon as the doctor had gone.

"Yeah. I'm good – now that you're awake."

"Don't think I'm gonna stay that way." Sam's eyes were already drifting shut again.

Bobby shook his head. It was hard to believe that Sam would simply accept Dean's claim of being "good" in light of the evidence in front of him: the bruised face, the stitches, the glassy stare, and the weak voice.

Dean turned to look at the older hunter with his usual shit-eating grin in place.

"Ok, Bobby. One down and one to go. Let's go take care of Dad." Dean turned from his sleeping brother and headed for the door. Bobby wondered if Dean even realized he was staggering. He looked like he was navigating the deck of a ship not the floor of a hospital.

The two hunters made their way to John's room, Bobby kept his hand on Dean's elbow to help steer him and avoid his playing bumper cars with the other people in the hallway. It took no time for Bobby to get out his magic vials and book, and to repeat the ritual with John.

This time Dean spent the entire ritual in a chair beside John's bed. With the end in sight, Bobby could see that the boy was starting to let himself relax, and he was crashing. He was crashing hard.

John's eyes fluttered and opened. Slowly, awareness returned. He stretched tentatively and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was stiff but not as bad as he could have been. He vaguely remembered a couple of witches….

"'Bout time you decided to wake up, Winchester."

John's eyes moved to take in his surroundings and finally alighted on Bobby standing behind Dean who was sitting in a chair beside the bed. Dean looked off, somehow…

"Bobby? What are you doing here?"

"Dean called for some back up."

John scowled at his eldest. Dean knew that John preferred to remain autonomous. Dean flinched. It was the response he was expecting.

"Where's Sam?"

"In another room. He's going to be fine." Bobby filled in when Dean remained silent.

"What happened? I remember those witches pummelling us and that's about it."

"You and Sam have been in a coma. Those witches planted a pretty good hex on you."

"So, why am I awake?"

"The counter spell. I had it in a couple of books, so Dean called to get them." Bobby held up the book he'd used as his primary source. John shook his head.

"Dean shouldn't have bothered you. That book is sitting in the trunk of the Impala. What were you thinking Dean? You knew that book was there. We put it in when we packed up for this hunt. Bobby is a busy man."

Dean's eyes bore into the floor between his feet. Bobby couldn't believe that it was possible for his face to grow paler, and yet it did. Dean twisted his hands together.

"I'm sorry," just above a whisper.

"John!"

Bobby couldn't stand it anymore. John's eyes swung to the older hunter.

"John, ask Dean where the Impala is."

Dean seemed oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

"Dean?" John fought for his eldest's attention and was rewarded by Dean raising his eyes to meet his father's. John finally got the full effect of the bruising on Dean's face. Until that moment, Dean's face had been downcast and hidden to him.

"Dean. Where's the Impala?"

Dean's face was stricken. John noticed that he was shaking slightly. How long had he been doing that? John didn't think that Dean's pupils should be that large.

"Dean?" John prodded again.

"I…I'm," Dean swallowed convulsively. His stomach was churning. He'd let them down. He'd done that again.

"I… I don't remember…I'm sorry," and Dean bolted from the room.

"Shit! Bobby?" John struggled to sit up.

"Stay put. I'll get him. Damn it, John, he was hurt too. It's a wonder he even knows his own name," Bobby called over his shoulder as he ran after Dean.

Bobby was just in time to see Dean duck into an empty room. Bobby skidded around the door and came up short. No Dean. And then he heard the noises from the bathroom.

Dean didn't have much of anything left in his stomach, but what was there quickly made it into the toilet. Dean was on his knees, elbows supporting him on the cold porcelain. Dry heaves followed and were punctuated by groans as his ribs and back protested this new abuse.

Bobby grabbed a washcloth and doused it in cold water. After ringing it out, he softly placed it on the back of Dean's neck. Dean flinched at the contact.

"Take it easy, son. He couldn't know you were hurt; he'd just woken up. It's gonna be fine once Johnny knows all the details. You did fine. It's ok," Bobby kept up a litany of soothing words, as much for the sound as the meaning. He knew Dean was crashing; he just wasn't sure how far the boy was going to go or if he could stop the descent.

Gradually, Dean's stomach stopped protesting and he was able to relax his tense muscles. The adrenaline that had kept him going was spent and as it left his body, so did consciousness. Dean slid bonelessly to the floor, and Bobby carefully guided his body down, then picked him up and staggered into the room and placed the young hunter on the bed.

"Damn it, Dean. You are just as stubborn as that damn father of yours," Bobby muttered over the silent boy.

"Just stay put for once. I'm going to get the doc." Bobby carefully ran a hand over Dean's hair, soothing the line of worry out of his forehead and then went in search of the doctor.

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"God, Bobby. I remember that hunt. We'd found the coven and attempted to sneak up on them…"

Sam was interrupted by Bobby's snort.

"Yeah, I know, you can't sneak up on witches – just one of the lessons we learned on that hunt. Anyway, Dean, as always, was trying to distract them and got flung around pretty good. He ended up unconscious. He was unconscious when I was hexed and then that's all I remember. Until the hospital. I remember waking up to have him there, and then the next time I woke up, you told me that he was back in the hospital. Nothing that I do remember, made anything Dean's fault. Whatever happened to the witches?"

"I went back to the house where they found you. It was burnt to the ground with no sign of anyone. According to the EMTs, the house was burning when they arrived. No one knows the details, and I don't think Dean ever did remember, but your brother managed to call 911 and drag both you and your dad out of the house before collapsing himself. He was unconscious when the EMTs arrived." Bobby shook his head.

"God knows how your brother managed to get the upper hand, or what he did to those witches, but there weren't anymore signs in that area or any where else that we could find, so they hadn't simply moved on."

The two hunters sat in silence for a few moments. It was Bobby who broke the silence.

"Only your brother would take the weight of the world on his shoulders and assume that he was to blame in the absence of any evidence one way or the other. I am glad though that he had learned to trust me enough to call me. Getting your brother to trust me and talk to me took a long time…"

A/N: So?? Let me know what you think... I'm trying really hard to finish this before Thrusday's episode. Probably three more chapters after this one...


	5. Two Guys and a Car

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox. Just for fun, not for profit.

**A/N:** Not a lot of action in this one…. A BIG thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted or fav'd this story. I'm really overwhelmed. It makes the late nights writing more than worthwhile. I do want to apologize for taking so long to answer reviews. I do plan on answering…. Just an aside to Mightymic who is anxious for me to get to the point – you may want to skip the next two chapters. The last Chapter should be up on Thursday, and that one has, well, you _know _what's in that one!!!!

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Two Guys and a Car

Bobby got up from the table and made his way over to the coffee pot. He brought it back to the table and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Sam. Sam slid his cup towards Bobby and watched him fill the mug with the steaming liquid. Sam didn't want to spoil the moment by saying anything. He'd always known that Bobby held a special place in his heart for Dean, and Sam had never been more grateful for that. Bobby was an intensely private person and naturally reticent on top of it, so Sam was moved by how much Bobby was opening up to him.

It wasn't the first time that it had occurred to Sam that Bobby and Dean got along so well because they were so much alike in many respects. Both were slow to trust, but once you made it into their inner circle, woe betide anyone who looked sideways at you. Hell hounds were less tenacious than Dean and Bobby. Both had a healthy respect for authority that earned that respect and neither suffered fools gladly. And while Sam was close to both of them, there were times when they could feel like complete strangers.

Bobby cleared his throat. He really wasn't used to talking this much.

"Your Daddy didn't set out to make Dean the default head of your household. At first, he tried to prevent it – or at least not let it get out of hand – make sure that Dean put himself first from time to time – the way your mother did for Dean before she died. Your Daddy tried to honour the way he thought she would have raised you boys. But I don't think your Dad had much of a childhood. The marines was more of a family to him and I think that's the family he ended up re-creating for you boys – his fall back plan. Who knows maybe it seemed more appropriate given the war state he felt like you lived in. As time went by, it was just too easy to let Dean play a bigger and bigger role. It allowed John to spend more and more time hunting. It's human nature to take the path of least resistance after all. John came to expect Dean to always step up to the plate. To take up the slack. And your brother was more than willing to do it. Your Daddy never expected Dean to fail or fall short – even when he should have. That's why most of the feedback Dean ever got was negative. The successes were just expected. I think your Dad commented when Dean failed because he was just so damned surprised that he'd failed at something."

"I don't know Bobby. Dean didn't have much of a role model for parenting either, but he did a pretty good job of raising me. I know that Dad did the best he could. He did tell Dean at the end that he was proud of him, but you and I both know that the damage to Dean's self esteem was done a long time ago."

"Like I said, Sam, your Dad tried hard when you were kids…."

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John was sitting at Bobby's desk, surrounded by stacks of books. He'd stopped in to do some research after a hunt hadn't gone quite the way he had anticipated it would. There always seemed to be some new evil out there or a twist on something he thought he'd learned everything about. Bobby's collection of books and other bits of information was more complete than any library, at least for the information that John sought. John was grateful that he had been introduced to Bobby and even more grateful that Bobby had taken John more or less under his wing. The physical aspects of hunting were natural to the marine in John, but being a good hunter was much more than the physical skills.

As a marine, John knew the value of the mental side of the equation. Brute force was usually no match for sound tactics. Bobby had that knowledge and had been willing to share it pretty freely with John. Bobby also knew the hunting community. He was able to steer John towards those who would be helpful and away from those who wouldn't be. It was Bobby who instilled a sense of caution about letting just anyone into the boys' lives.

"Lotta good people do this job, John. But there are those who do it for the wrong reasons too. Most hunters have pretty strong opinions, and some are going to have an opinion about your boys being this close to the life. Others… well, others are going to be curious about the way your wife died. I'd be playing that card pretty close to my chest too, if I were you. You think you're the cavalry to the rescue. I'm gonna tell you. The Indians aren't always the bad guys. The cavalry aren't always the good guys. And you got a whole lotta cowboys thrown into the mix for good measure."

Bobby had given John good advice. John was a cautious person by nature and that had only grown more intense. He was determined that no one, natural, unnatural, or supernatural would ever hurt his family again. If that meant cutting himself and his boys off from both the "natural/normal" world and the "hunter/supernatural" world then so be it. They would be their own world with a few worthy and safe additions, like Bobby and Pastor Jim.

About the only thing Bobby had ever failed to be generous about was his own background. John knew very little about Bobby. He didn't know how he got into hunting or how long he'd been doing it. He didn't know if Bobby had any family. He knew he had a great library, a salvage yard, and a garage. Like John, Bobby was a good mechanic and could get just about any vehicle running. Bobby seemed to know everyone in the hunting community, but kept company with very few of them. Bobby made great coffee, all day breakfast, and macaroni and cheese, but otherwise his culinary skills were a bit lacking. He liked whiskey and wasn't overly fond of tequila. And that was about it. All that John knew of Bobby. Oh. And he was a good friend, especially to the boys.

John sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he re-read the same paragraph for the third time. Dean was restless and bored and it was distracting.

"Dean?"

"Yes, sir?" His eldest answered immediately, his voice quiet and respectful. At seven, Dean was more outgoing than he had been the previous year, but at times, he could still be unnaturally quiet. He worked hard at any task that John gave him but almost seemed unable or unwilling to do things for his own amusement. He would entertain Sammy endlessly, however. Right now, though, Sam was happily entertaining himself with some of Bobby's less exotic texts, so he didn't need Dean's attention. And this left Dean sitting on the couch, staring out the window, making odd popping noises with his mouth.

_How the hell does he do that_, John thought.

"Dean, why don't you go outside? You could use some fresh air."

"I'm watching Sammy."

"I can watch Sam while I'm doing my research, kiddo. You head outside and have some fun." John turned back to his research.

Dean stared at his father for a moment and then shrugged. He slid off the couch and headed for the door, slipping his shoes and jacket on before heading out the door. He glanced back once over his shoulder at his father and brother reading companionably in the study.

The door swung shut quietly behind Dean. He wasn't used to being sent off to spend time on his own. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. What was expected of him. He stood on the porch surveying Bobby's salvage yard. There seemed to be car wrecks in various stages of disrepair and disintegration as far as the eye could see. Dean recognized many of the makes and models of cars and trucks. His Dad would often pass the time as they drove by talking about the cars that they passed.

Dean was unsure of which direction he should head in, so when he heard a pounding noise, he decided to follow it on a whim.

Rounding the corner of the house, Dean realized that the noise was coming from the small garage that Bobby maintained. As he approached the building, Dean could hear Bobby's voice keeping up a quiet, but steady, monologue. There were a number of curses being thrown in for good measure and this caused the corners of Dean's mouth to curve up into a tiny smile. Bobby sure could curse. Dean had learned a few good expressions from him – one of which had gotten his mouth washed out with soap the last time they had been at Pastor Jim's.

Dean moved quietly up to the car under whose hood Bobby currently stooped, cursing and banging. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Bobby glanced up, saw Dean, and jerked up too fast and too hard, whacking his head savagely on the hood.

Dean barely kept from laughing out loud and couldn't keep a smirk off of his face.

"Think that's funny do you, boy!" Bobby snapped, rubbing at the growing knot on the back of his head. That had bloody well hurt!

Bobby immediately regretted snapping at the boy as the small smile disappeared and he cringed slightly.

"Sssorry Sir." Dean mumbled and began to back out of the garage.

"Guess it was kinda funny," Bobby conceded and broke into a grin of his own. His words and the tone of his voice had the desired effect of halting Dean's backward motion. Bobby was curious as to what could have pried the boy away from his brother.

"Did you need something, Dean? Did your Daddy send you for me?"

"No. Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you." Dean said quickly and quietly began his retreat again.

"Well hang on. Seeing as how you are here, maybe you can give me a bit of a hand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thought we agreed a long time ago that my name was Bobby?"

"Sorry. Bobby. How can _I_ help?" Dean took a few tentative steps towards the car that Bobby was working on. He recognized some of the parts because he'd watched his Dad work on the Impala.

"Well, I was concentrating so hard on what I was doing that I dropped the tool I was holding into the engine. Now my hand and arm are too big to get it where it's laying. Want to see if you can reach it?"

"Sure Bobby."

"C'mon around to my side." Bobby turned and looked for something that Dean could stand on to be able to reach. Dean meanwhile scooted around the front of the car to Bobby's side.

"Perfect. Just what the mechanic ordered," Bobby sighed as he bent over and retrieved an old milk crate.

"Ok? Up you go Dean." Bobby helped the boy onto the crate.

"See between these parts? Can you see the shine of metal? That's my wrench. Think you can reach it?" Bobby watched as Dean bobbed his head, eager as always to help.

"I can see it Bobby!" Without waiting for further instructions, Dean thrust his small, skinny arm through the motor. He grabbed the wrench, pulled it out, and handed it to Bobby.

"Thanks, Dean. I had no idea how I was gonna get that damn wrench outta there! Good thing you happened out here when you did." Bobby squeezed the small boy's shoulder gently as he took the wrench from him.

A smile spread across Dean's face at the praise. He ducked his head, lowering his gaze from Bobby's eyes and made to jump off of the crate. Bobby's hand stopped him.

"Are you busy right now, kid?" Bobby wasn't even sure why he asked. Ordinarily he used the garage as an excuse to ditch guests if he had them. It wasn't that he didn't like John and the boys, but he was solitary by nature – or by habit – and sometimes he just needed his own space.

"No. I'm not busy. Dad sent me out of the house." The first part was spoken slowly, the second more quickly, and the third came out in a rush.

"Well, if your Daddy doesn't need you right now, I could use some help." Bobby raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Sure, Bobby! What do you need me to do?" Bobby was pleased to see Dean's face split into a huge grin.

"First off, you can help by handing me tools as I need them…"

That afternoon began what was to be a routine for Dean at Bobby's. In fact, although none of them realized it, it began a pattern for all of the Winchesters, whenever they spent time with Bobby. Dean would seek out Bobby in the salvage yard, and John and Sam would seek out knowledge in the hunter's extensive library.

At first, Dean helped Bobby work on whatever Bobby's current project was. On that first afternoon, Bobby began by teaching Dean the names of many of his tools and how the engine worked – or didn't work, in the case of the car currently being worked on. It wasn't long before Bobby would haul in a second car for Dean to work on himself. Bobby was impressed by how hard Dean worked to learn everything that Bobby threw at him. Dean was eight when he surprised John by doing an oil change on the Impala by himself.

Most often, Bobby and Dean would work in companionable silence. If either were alone in the workshop, he would invariably have the radio on, but when together, they settled on silence – Dean couldn't stand the country that Bobby favoured and Bobby couldn't stand the driving rock of Zepplin and Metallica that Dean favoured.

Bobby enjoyed Dean's company and came to realize that the time Dean spent in the garage, ostensibly helping Bobby, was one of the few times that Dean got to have for himself. Not that that was all John's fault either. In the normal course of events, Dean was content in doing for his family, keeping the home fires burning so John could hunt and Sammy could concentrate on school.

John encouraged Dean's time in the garage. Part of him wished that this was something that he could share with Dean. After all, John was a mechanic himself and understood the solace one could find in grease and oil, in bringing life back to a cherished wreck, in putting the pieces back together and creating order out of the small universe of a car. John recognized that Dean was always more relaxed after he had been working with Bobby, and it helped to keep their small universe running.

Until the time when it threatened to tear their universe apart.

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Bobby chuckled.

"Do you remember what happened that year you boys were going to school for most of the year in Wyoming? Dean was 16, so you would have been 12."

Sam shook his head slowly, unsure of what Bobby was getting at.

"I don't remember anything specific. I remember that Dad had said we'd probably have the whole year at that school, and then suddenly, we were on the road heading for some tiny town in Texas. I remember being pissed. I was angry because the school we were at in Wyoming was actually really good. Had a lot of enriched programs and a great library. The shit hole we ended up in had a grand total of like 10 books in the library. I vaguely remember being mad at Dean, though – not just Dad that time."

Bobby huffed and the look on his face darkened. He stared at the table then, and Sam was afraid that this was going to be the end of the line as far as Bobby's story telling went.

"That was the first time I thought about shooting your Daddy."

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A/N: So...??? One more TeenChester and then the last chapter to go... Please let me know what you think... I had originally planned a few more chapters but I really want to get to the "big" scene before this Thursday's Bobbycentric episode - just in case it touches on this... 


	6. Family First

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing as beautiful as the Winchesters. (Well, not beautiful in their unique way….). Just playing in Kripke's sandbox – thanks for the loan! Just for fun, no profit here. Any resemblance to reality is just a spooky coincidence…

**A/N:** This chapter is a bit longer than I had anticipated it being. It's a story that I've wanted to tell for a long time. The contest is one that actually ran in my high school back in the dark ages when I went…

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**Family First**

"That was the first time I thought about shooting your Daddy."

Sam remained quiet. He really wanted to know about the time Bobby really _did _pull the gun on his Dad. His mind went back to that time, but the memories were vague at best. It was such a long time ago, and so much had happened in the interim. Finally, Sam cleared his throat when it became apparent that Bobby was lost in the memories.

"I honestly don't remember much about that move. I remember Dad was pissed at Dean. It was one of the few times that Dean was the odd man out. I remember being lonely after that move. I mean, we never had an overabundance of friends cuz we moved around so much and were always the new kids, but I always had Dean, you know? And I seem to remember that Dean was missing somehow. God, Bobby! How can I forget stuff like this?"

"We tend to be the stars of our own show, Sam," Bobby smiled at Sam. "You were only 12 at the time. Don't be so hard on yourself. I'm not sure that you ever knew even half of what went down and why your Dad felt that he had to get you as far away from Wyoming as possible."

"If I ever did know, I've forgotten," Sam prompted.

"Well, that year you were in Wyoming, you and your brother spent a lot of weekends here. At least, you did. By then, your brother was hunting with your Dad a lot. He tried to convince your Dad to leave you with me as much as he could, though by that time your Dad was starting to want you to come on the hunts more."

"Oh, that part, I remember just fine. I'd want to do my school work, and he'd want me either researching or out with him and Dean." Sam huffed. It still irritated him. He wasn't 12 anymore. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help himself.

"Your brother did his best to make sure that you had plenty of time to enjoy that nice school. By then, your Dad had come to rely on the both of you to take care of the more mundane hunts. That's when he really started immersing himself in tracking the demon. It's when it really started to become an overwhelming obsession for him."

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Bobby heard the rumble of the Impala as it pulled into the yard. John must have had the car packed, picked the boys up at school and headed right out. He wondered if John had even thought to stop so they could get something to eat.

Bobby was almost at the door when he heard the knock. Didn't matter how many times he told them that they couldn't sneak up on him with that damn car that they could just walk in. They still had to knock. John insisted on a strict code of manners. And yet he made his living by hustling pool and committing credit card fraud. The man was a walking contradiction.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean greeted him as he opened the door. Despite the trademark grin on his face, Bobby thought he looked tired. Looking after Sam and John was not an easy job.

"Hi Bobby," Sam chimed in from behind his brother. As usual, while Dean was laden down with his duffle, Sam's duffle, and a weapons duffle, Sam was fully occupied in juggling his books.

"Hi Bobby," John made an appearance behind his boys and shook Bobby's hand as the boys made their way to the back bedroom that they always shared.

"John. You eat?"

"Not really. Just wanted to get on the road and get here. We need to do a bit more research before we head out. I appreciate your agreeing to look after Sam while Dean and I take care of this."

"Not a problem. Never is. Sam's no bother." Bobby led the way into the kitchen. "I'll get some sandwiches together. You can eat while you research. You heading out tonight, then?"

"No. We'll have to go in the morning. Should be able to take care of it tomorrow, and be back late on Sunday. If we leave early Monday, I can still have the boys back in time for school."

"Guess what, Bobby?" Sam bounced into the kitchen.

"What, Sam?" Bobby couldn't help but smile; Sam was obviously bursting with some secret or other.

"We got our report cards today!"

Bobby chuckled to himself. That had never been a red letter day for him. Not that he couldn't have done well in school, but there hadn't been too many classes in demonology, mythology, supernatural hunting, and exorcisms when he'd been going to school, so his interest had been a bit lacking…

"Considering how much you like to study, I'm betting you did pretty good," Bobby prompted.

Sam produced the document from a pocket and waved it tantalizingly under Bobby's nose.

"Want to see?"

"Course!"

Sam handed the document over.

Bobby looked down a row of straight A pluses. No surprise there.

"Top of his class in every subject."

Was that bust-a-seam pride in John's voice? Bobby was momentarily taken aback. It was getting less frequent to see the father and not the drill sergeant in John.

"That's great Sammy! How about you Dean? How was your report?" Bobby turned to the older brother, who had just entered the kitchen and who was also swelled with pride for his brother. As well he might, Bobby reflected, given the number of times Bobby had witnessed Dean patiently helping Sam with his homework.

"Oh well. You know, Bobby, Sam's the brains of the outfit and Dean's talents run more to the non-academic type," John at least had the decency to squeeze Dean's shoulder in passing.

If he hadn't happened to be looking, Bobby never would have seen the disappointment slide across Dean's face, disappearing as fast as it appeared. Dean crossed the room and automatically began helping Bobby pull out the sandwich fixings. Sam moved to set the table, all of them falling into a comfortable routine.

As soon as dinner was over and the mess cleaned up, the three Winchesters settled down to finish up their research. Because it was Friday night and he had all weekend to work on his school projects, even Sam bent to the work with a will. They finally wrapped it up about midnight and turned in. They were confident they knew everything they needed to know about the vengeful spirits they were going to take care of. John and Dean were gone by 7 the next morning.

Sam spent the weekend working on his homework, helping Bobby with some of his research and starting some research for his Dad. Bobby had finally had to order him to leave the house and take the dog for a walk.

John and Dean made it back by 6 on Sunday, a bit earlier than they had at first anticipated. Both were a bit the worse for wear. Knowing what you were getting into didn't mean that the spirits still couldn't get the upper hand, at least temporarily. Both had bruised their ribs. John thought his left wrist might be slightly sprained. Dean had a black eye, 5 stitches and a wicked headache. John decided they would stay the night at Bobby's as they had already planned as he and Bobby had some business to attend to and he was just too tired to drive back to Wyoming.

After dinner, John and Bobby left to see a man about some weapons, and Dean joined Sam at the table to tackle their homework. Sam was almost finished, and he was fuming.

"Dad can just go screw himself," Sam spat out.

"Sammy!"

"You say it all the time," Sam whined.

"Yeah? Maybe so. But not about Dad."

"Well, I don't know why he can't do his own research this time. I've got to finish this essay, and I've got a huge history test tomorrow," Sam huffed and scowled.

"Here," Dean said grabbing the books that John had left for Sam to look through. "I'll do the research, and you can concentrate on your homework."  
"What about your homework, Dean? You've got that English essay due tomorrow, don't you?"

"Nobody's expecting straight As from me, Dude. I've got enough done on that stupid essay that I should pass. That's good enough for me."

Sam shrugged. He'd thought that Dean cared more about the essay. He'd been working on it all week and really seemed to like his English teacher. Sam assumed he must have been wrong and dove into what remained of his homework.

At 10, Dean pushed back from the table. Squinting his eyes shut, he squeezed the bridge of his nose against the relentless pounding of his headache.

"Ok, kiddo. Time to call it a night."

"Aw, Dean! I'm not done…."

"Sammy, you know as well as I do that you'd sit there until morning and still say you weren't done. Bud. You can't get better than 100, so just let it go. You can cram some more in the car on the way home tomorrow anyway." Dean's tone was light but firm. Sam knew when he was beat, and Dean was right. He felt confident that his essay was really good and he was well prepared for his test.

"Fine." He couldn't let Dean know he was right after all, so for show, he stomped off to their bedroom.

Dean looked wistfully at his own homework, sitting untouched on the table. He really liked his English teacher. She was nice, and he'd wanted to bring his mark up for her, but work was more important and had to come first. Sammy cared so much about his grades that Dean always made sure that he had enough time for his assignments and studying. Dean also knew it was important that Sam get a good night's sleep to be at his best for the test.

His headache was making it hard to concentrate. Dean knew that his research had to be accurate and detailed or there was no way it would help to keep his Dad safe. He caught himself before he sighed again.

_Suck it up Winchester_, he murmured. Dean turned back to Bobby's dusty books. He was concentrating so hard he jumped when the door opened to let in Bobby and his father. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was after 1 am. His Dad and Bobby had obviously made a stop at the local watering hole on the way home.

"Hey kiddo! Still hitting the books? I doubt it will help you to catch up with that brother of yours." John chuckled. He'd had enough to drink to deaden the bruises from the recent hunt and unwind tight muscles, but he wasn't being belligerent. John didn't mean it the way it sounded. He was proud of Sam's good grades, but he was also proud of Dean's accomplishments. He just generally forgot to mention Dean's. Bobby winced at John's comment.

Dean outright flinched.

"Get to bed, son. We have to be up early, and I might get you to take a turn at the wheel."

"Yessir." Dean acquiesced and quietly rose and left the room.

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They were up and gone in a flurry the next day. Bobby just shook his head at the whiling dervish those two boys could be. After they had gone and after several cups of coffee, Bobby finally felt up to putting his kitchen back in order. As he picked up one of the books Dean had been using, a piece of paper slipped out. It was Dean's report card. There were A s for Math, Physics, Shop, Art, Gym and Latin. English and History were both B .

Bobby found himself shaking his head again. He wondered if John had any idea what kind of grades Dean actually got.

Bobby found another slip of paper acting as a bookmark in one of the other books. This slip was announcing a contest. Students in art class were asked to submit an innovative design for a car. The design could incorporate paint and some modifications to the body. The design should reflect team spirit, specifically the school's commitment to team spirit. The winning design would be given a car from a used car dealer in town (the dealer was making three different economy models available, so students could use a picture of one of them and show a mock up of the design). The winning design would also get a shop team to implement their design. Then there was a state-wide competition between all the schools. The winners got a cash prize plus all new uniforms for their school's sports teams.

Dean had doodled some possibilities on the back of the sheet. They were good, even if Bobby _was _biased. Bobby made a mental note to ask Dean about it the next time he saw him.

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As luck would have it, the Winchesters arrived back on Bobby's doorstep the very next weekend. John needed to be in Louisiana for the weekend and wanted Sam and Dean to do some research in some of Bobby's more esoteric books. Originally, Dean was supposed to have accompanied John, but as it turned out, his bruised ribs from the previous weekend were actually two cracked and one broken. John only found out about it because the head injury had caused enough nausea and vomiting that the pain from his ribs had made Dean pass out in school. The school nurse had diagnosed the ribs.

John was not happy.

Dean knew that he had blown one of the cardinal rules: always fly under the radar.

Dean had managed to convince the nurse that his injuries were the result of a dirt bike accident that he really didn't want his Dad to know about. She had been very understanding and agreed not to call child services but had insisted on calling his Dad.

Bobby sensed the tension the minute the Winchesters arrived. After a few barked orders to the boys and a cursory thanks for taking them to Bobby, John was back in the car and on the road.

As soon as the boys had stowed their things in their room, Sam started in on his homework.

"Dean? You got homework to do, or do you have time to give me a hand in the shop?"

"I got time, Bobby. I haven't got much homework this weekend." Dean ruffled his brother's hair on the way past.

"Deean!" Sam complained.

Bobby chuckled and followed Dean out the door, grabbing two pieces of paper off the counter.

When Dean got to the garage, he found three cars sitting in it. None of them looked like Bobby was in the midst of working on them. He turned to Bobby with one eyebrow raised in a question.

"These the cars you wanted help with? What's wrong with 'em?"

"All in good time," Bobby answered. "First, I gotta couple questions for you."

Dean stiffened. He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going. He really hoped that Bobby wasn't about to read him the riot act he'd gotten enough of that from his Dad. He knew he'd screwed up. He just wished everyone could let it go.

Bobby was waving a piece of paper at him.

"Mind explaining this?" Bobby was holding his report card out to him.

"Um. Well, Bobby, that's my report card." Dean's voice reflected the obviousness of the answer.

"Any special reason this is the best kept secret since who shot Kennedy?"

"Not a secret," Dean's face closed off and he looked at the ground.

"Does your Dad or even Sam know what kind of grades you get?"

"Don't know."

"Don't you think they'd want to know?"

"Haven't asked yet." A hint of a smirk appeared on Dean's face. Bobby recognized it as a defence mechanism.

"Come on, Dean. What the hell? Why haven't you told them?"

"School is Sam's thing." And that was it for Dean.

The penny dropped with a resounding bang for Bobby. No way in Hell was Dean going to steal any of Sam's thunder.

"Doesn't have to be mutually exclusive, Dean," Bobby suggested.

"Sam is so happy when Dad is so proud of him when he gets his report card. It's not like I'm ever straight As like Sam is. Sam's the smart one, Bobby. He gets those marks even when we're at a crappy school." Dean's voice was taking on an urgent quality now. What if Bobby were to spoil this for Sam? Dean couldn't allow that.

"I'm not gonna tell them if you don't want me to. But I think they deserve to know. And I don't know where you get off saying Sam is the smart one. From where I stand, there are two pretty damn smart Winchester boys."

Bobby sighed. He knew when he was beat. He was never going to convince Dean to take the credit he deserved.

"Besides, Bobby, I'm always careful never to be the top of the class. You know Dad doesn't like us to stand out too much."

Bobby just shook his head at that one. It was okay for _Sam_ to be top of his class, after all. John had become more than a little paranoid somewhere along the line. Bobby could understand John's driving need to keep the boys safe – hell, Bobby would kill John himself if John didn't do everything in his power to keep those boys safe – but there was such a thing as going too far. Of depriving them of anything remotely like a normal childhood. Sam had Dean to provide some version of normal for him. But Dean had no one, and it had become clear to Bobby that increasingly, Dean wouldn't try to provide that for himself.

"Please, Bobby. I have to know that you aren't going to say anything about this. It has to stay between us."

Bobby sighed again. He shook his head and readjusted his ball cap. He knew he was going to agree to Dean's terms, but he knew it wasn't really in Dean's interest.

"Ok. I won't spill the beans if you don't want me to."

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean's face split into a big grin. He heaved a sigh of relief.

"Now, then. What about this other thing?" Bobby was waving around another sheet of paper.

Dean recognized it immediately. It was the contest handout and his preliminary designs. He didn't have a choice about entering the contest. The design part of the contest was an assignment for all art classes. The implementation part of the contest would be performed by a group formed by the top student in each year of shop. He knew he'd never win the design portion. Partly because he was sure that everyone else entering had more talent than he did and partly because he knew he wasn't going to submit his best design. That was partly a factor of staying under the radar and partly a factor that he wasn't sure that anyone could actually make the modifications his design would require. Dean also knew that he would be on the implementation team. Due to all his work with Bobby, not only was Dean the top student in his year, he occasionally knew a trick or two that his shop teacher didn't. It was the one class that he did allow himself to shine in.

"I won't win. My designs aren't very good, and I'm not even sure I could pull them off anyway," Dean blurted, eyes still looking anywhere but at Bobby.

"You're serious?" Bobby's eyebrows disappeared into his hat.

"Huh?" Dean did look at Bobby. Surprise plastered on his face. He had assumed Bobby would think the contest was lame. Lame like his designs.

"Your designs. They're really good. I like this one the best," Bobby pointed to Dean's own favourite. The one he was sure would be impossible to pull off.

"Well, it might look ok, but it can't be done, can it?" Dean's tone began flat and defiant, but hope had begun to creep into it by the end.

"That, I have to admit, I'm not sure about. But that's where these come in," Bobby indicated the three cars with a sweep of his hand. Dean really noticed them for the first time. They were the same makes and models as the used car dealership was making available for the contest.

"I figure we can try out your design on all three. See if it'll work, and which car it looks better on."

"Bobby…" Dean's voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He was truly overwhelmed. Dean's eyes filled and he turned away to hide it from Bobby. He would never want him to think he was weak.

"I think your design will work, but it might be a challenge to implement. The judges of the contest might not want to pick your design if they think it can't be completed, so if we can show them a picture of a car where it's already been mocked up, there is no way that this design won't win!" Bobby couldn't help himself. He was getting really pumped about this contest. They could absolutely kick the other kids' asses!

"Bobby," laughter had found its way into Dean's voice. Bobby was just so _into_ the whole contest thing. His enthusiasm was infectious. Dean had barely admitted to himself how much he wanted his design to win.

"I don't know what to say," Dean finally managed to say.

"Well. How about 'thanks' and which car do you want to start on," trust Bobby to defuse the tension and bring the conversation back to practical matters. Dean was always happiest to steer away from a chick-flick moment. He was sure that Bobby had missed the tear that had managed to escape.

Dean was wrong about the tear. Bobby had seen it. It broke his heart that Dean could be so surprised and touched at someone doing something for him for a change.

"Let's try this one," Dean moved towards one of the cars.

"And, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Dean's smile was all the thanks Bobby had really wanted.

For the next two weekends, which luckily Dean and Sam spent with Bobby, they tried the modification on the car. It didn't work with Dean's first choice, but it did with the second. They were able to take some pictures and Dean was able to complete the drawing part of his art project using the appropriate car.

Bobby didn't see the boys for two weeks after that as John had dragged them off in another direction for a hunt one weekend and then spent the next weekend recuperating from that hunt. Bobby knew that Dean would have received the results of the contest and was dying to know how the boy had made out.

Bobby knew that Dean had won the contest the moment that he stepped out of the Impala the following weekend. His face split in a shit-eating grin.

Bobby matched Dean's shit-eating grin as he slapped him on the back and squeezed his shoulder as he made his way into the house. Neither John nor Sam seemed to notice. For some reason, Dean hadn't told them about the contest. It was _his_ thing with Bobby.

Bobby respected Dean's obvious desire to keep the contest a secret, so he didn't bring it up until he and Dean were safely alone in the garage.

"So congratulations! What happens next?" Bobby couldn't get the grin off his face.

"Well, we've already started on mocking up the car. We have three weeks to get it done. Then, it goes to the final in Cheyenne. Every high school in Wyoming is submitting an entry. They are going to make their decision by the middle of March. The overall winner gets brand new uniforms for all the sports in their school. The designer gets $500, and the winning school gets a $2000 grant for their shop program. It's a really sweet deal, but I know that we won't win…"

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Dean. I'd be thinking about opening a bank account if I were you." Bobby couldn't believe that after winning his school-wide competition, Dean could still have such a low opinion of his own entry. This was a good school and a big one, so without even seeing the other entries, Bobby knew that the competition must have been fierce.

Dean just shrugged and looked embarrassed. He buried his hands in his pockets and scuffed at the floor with his boot.

"If you don't have anything to work on out here, maybe we should head back in. Dad's gonna need some help with that research."

"Sure, Dean. But promise me you'll let me know what happens with the contest, ok?"

"Sure. It's almost as much your entry as mine!"

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"_When_ you win, you _are _going to tell your Dad and Sammy. Right?"

"Ok." Dean gave in to Bobby. "_If_ we win."

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As a hunter, Bobby had to stay on top of current events. Bobby didn't like to travel around the way John did. He felt that _his _role as a hunter was primarily to supply information, hence his extensive library. One of the reasons Bobby specialized in demons was that they didn't appear all that often, so he didn't have to make road trips all that often. He had his garage to maintain, after all, on top of the library.

For that reason, he had a number of papers delivered to his house daily. He got the local paper, but he also received papers from the capitals of neighbouring states. One of the papers he received was the _Wyoming Tribune_ _Eagle_.

Bobby was just sitting down with a nice, fresh cup of coffee to start going through his stack of papers on a blustery day in March when his coffee cup suddenly fell to the floor, busting and splashing hot coffee up his shins. Bobby didn't even feel it as he stared at the _Tribune Eagle_.

Staring back at him from the front page was Dean Winchester.

"Well, I'll be a demon's whore! Whoo Hoo!! Dam it, boy! I told you you'd win!" Bobby fairly danced about the kitchen in celebration. Until he saw his favourite mug smashed on the floor.

"Well shit." That sobered him up a bit.

After he cleaned up the mess and got a fresh cup, Bobby settled in to read the article.

_The team from CCHS of Gillette, Wyoming will be bringing home all new uniforms for the Camels. The team lead by Dean Winchester won best car design over teams from twenty other participating high schools in the state…._

Bobby studied the picture. Dean was trying to be as inconspicuous as he possibly could be, having jammed himself behind his team mates as much as he could. The five students on the team were standing in front of the car. Bobby smiled and whistled. It had turned out even better than he had hoped. Those kids had done a great job. Bobby's eyes were drawn back to Dean. He didn't look too happy.

As it turned out, Dean had a reason to look unhappy and Bobby was about to find out what it was….

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It was mid afternoon when Bobby was pulled from his research by what was the unmistakeable growl of the Impala hitting his yard. Bobby frowned. It was Tuesday. John must be heading out on a job. It was far from unusual for John to leave the boys on their own anymore with Dean being sixteen. What Bobby wasn't expecting to see was the boys with John in the middle of the school week, but it was all three Winchesters on his doorstep when he opened the door.

John looked like he was about to go nuclear. Sammy was far from happy. But Dean was a picture of misery.

"Did you know about this?" John bellowed at Bobby and shook a newspaper in his general direction. Bobby finally caught on that it was the _Tribune Eagle_.

"Yeah." Bobby's answer was short and guarded. Somehow, John didn't seem happy about it. "What's the problem, John?"

"What's the _problem_? Are you serious?"

Bobby waited patiently, one eyebrow slightly raised, and one hand on the back of his head.

"John. Calm down and come in." Bobby held the door open. John brushed past with Sam hot on his heels for a change and looking like a miniature storm cloud. Dean brought up the rear, eyes glued to the floor. When Bobby caught his arm on the way by in an attempt to get him to meet his eyes, Dean flinched and drew further into himself. Bobby started to feel the beginnings of anger stir within himself. He didn't know what the Hell was going on, but he knew it was jacked up.

John had stalked to the centre of the room. Sam had slouched into the couch and Dean was pushed up against the wall, looking like he wished he could just sink into it. John was pacing.

"How could you let him do this? He's just a kid. I'd expected better of him to protect his own family, but I forget he's just a kid." Bobby could see Dean physically flinching at his father's words.

"Do what John? Win a contest? A state-wide contest? Isn't this the part where you are proud of your son's accomplishment?" Bobby was officially getting pissed.

"That's a luxury we don't have, Bobby, and I'm surprised that you wouldn't have figured that out. We can't afford for his picture to be in the paper. Not with his God damn NAME for Christ's sake!" John was full out bellowing at this point.

"What?" Bobby was still confused about where all this anger was coming from.

"Think about it. How often has Dean had to visit the emergency room since we got to Wyoming? How often do you think that my health insurance has the name Winchester on it? Is it possible that one of the doctors or nurses in one of those ERs might just see this newspaper and recognize Dean? And realize that's not the name that we had used?"

A penny was rolling around at the bottom of Bobby's stomach.

"Shit."

"Yeah, Bobby. Shit. As in, the shit's hit the fan." John stopped pacing and just glowered at Bobby.

"Look John. This is as much my fault as Dean's. I knew about the contest and…."  
"Did you know about the photo op?" John interrupted.

"Um, well, no. I didn't know about that." Bobby confessed.

"Yeah. So that's all on Dean, isn't it?" John's voice was even more belligerent now that he wasn't yelling.

"I'm sorry, Dad, I …"

"Shut it Dean. I really don't want to hear anything you have to say right now."

"So, why are you here, John?"

"I need your help to clean this mess up. I figured you might want to pitch in…" John left the suggestion that Bobby would help clean up the mess he helped to make just hang between them.

"What do you need, John?" Bobby's voice was flat now. Devoid of emotion. Because if he gave rein to the anger that was building inside him, he was afraid of what would happen.

"We're on our way south. Not sure where, but we'll have to clear out of the mid-west for now." It had always been John's preference to raise the boys in the mid-west, close to their original roots in Kansas.

"I need you to go to my place in Gillette and make sure we got everything. I know I got all the weapons, but there were still some effects that got left behind. If you could gather them up and either bring them back here or forward them, I would appreciate it." John's anger was simmering.

"Fine." Bobby agreed.

"We're going to hit the road now. I'll let you know where we are when we get settled." John turned to head for the door. "Let's go boys."

Sam pulled himself out of the couch. The way he glowered at his father was shockingly reminiscent of John's look at Bobby on first arriving. He stalked past his father and out the door. Dean slunk after him, shoulders hunched and eyes glued to the floor, misery wafting off him in waves.

Bobby caught John's arm as he made to brush past.

"Don't punish Dean, John. Can't you see what this is doing to him?"

"Seems to me it's what he's done to himself and this family. He _should_ feel bad about it. He screwed up."

"His only screw up was desperately wanting to make you proud of him."

"This is not any of your concern. Family comes first, Bobby. Not some stupid contest to make yourself out to be something you're not. Dean knows better. At least, I thought he did. Our job is hunting and keeping what's left of our family safe."

Bobby snorted. "You are hardly keeping your family safe when you place so much responsibility on your son's shoulders that he can barely carry it and you are slowly destroying him from the inside out!" Bobby snapped. His eyes slid to the shotgun that was always loaded and by the door.

"Fuck you, Singer. You don't know what you're talking about. I don't see any family around _you_." And with that, John turned and slammed out of the door.

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"Oh my God, Bobby." Sam's face was anguished. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "I never even heard about this contest before."

Bobby got up and left the room. Sam heard the desk drawer open and shuffling of paper. Bobby came back in and placed a clipping in front of him. It was the contest picture. Sam could see how hard Dean was trying to avoid being seen.

"I was such a shit to him. I was so mad at Dad for making us move that I made life as uncomfortable for both of them as I could. I remember Dean being quiet. Barely talking. It's one of the reasons I was so unhappy in Texas. I eventually made some new friends but I still felt lonely there for some reason. I remember that it was after that that Dean started to bug Dad about dropping out of high school."

"I didn't see you for a while after that. Then your Dad started to come around again, looking for information, and eventually, it was the three of you dropping by and staying again. At least until you left for school. That's when things took a turn."

**A/N: **There really is a CCHS high school in Gillette Wyoming and their mascot it the camel – why I cannot tell you….

My hope for posting the last chapter tonight is running out – it's not done yet and new epi is in five hours. So, here's the question of the day: Should I post the "rough" copy or make you all wait until next week (I have to go out of town tomorrow). I will be ruled by your votes…. Vote soon, vote often!!!!! Or at least let me know if you liked this chappie??? Please????


	7. Incomplete Spoiler

**WARNING: THIS IS AN INCOMPLETE ROUGH DRAFT OF THE LAST CHAPTER. PLEASE CONSIDER IT A SPOILER…. I WILL POST THE FINISHED VERSION AS SOON AS I CAN, BUT FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO CAN'T WAIT THIS IS THE VERY LAST SCENE….**

**A/N: **I feel badly that I was unable to finish before tonight's episode, so this is a thank you and an I'm sorry to those of you who have stuck with me all week and reviewed or lurked!!! What you will find here is the framing scenes and the beginning and the ending of the flashback scene….

"Seeing as how I have no memory of your pulling the gun on Dad, I'm assuming this happened when I was at school?" Sam was starting to get a bit impatient. With what Bobby had told him already, Sam could hardly imagine what more had to have happened to get Bobby to lose it.

"Sam. Um. Maybe telling you _this_ story wasn't such a great idea." Bobby pushed his hat around on his head and ran his hand through his beard.

"Oh, come on Bobby! You can't get cold feet on my now. That would make you the biggest tease in the mid-west – and you know that would be going some!" Sam's face went from incredulous to serious full-blown puppy-eyes in a heart beat. Even Bobby wasn't immune to the Sammy charm when it came right down to it.

"Uh. I don't know Sam. Dean's not gonna like it." Bobby looked anywhere but at Sam.

Sam leaned over and grabbed the bottle of Jack that still sat on the kitchen table. He poured Bobby a very generous measure, and then thinking, _what the hell, it's gotta be after noon somewhere_, Sam poured one for himself.

Bobby took a drink that was ample enough to almost finish what Sam had put in the glass. Sam filled the glass back up.

"Ok. I've gone this far. In for a penny, in for a pound." Bobby sighed and looked resigned.

"Here's the thing though, Sam. You gotta understand that your brother _and_ your father were in a really bad place after you left."

Bobby held up his hand when he saw Sam draw in a breath to protest.

"None of what I'm going to tell you is to make you feel bad about the choice that you made, Sam. I don't blame you, and contrary to what you may believe, neither Dean nor John blame you anymore either. But you have to understand that things got really bad after you left."

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Bobby groaned as the phone kept ringing. Finally, he realized that he was fighting a losing battle and reached over.

"What?"

"Bobby! Where the hell have you been and why aren't you answering your damn phone!"

"John. I'm in bed. Asleep. Like normal people at 6 am." _You jackass_, he added under his breath.

"Oh." Bobby's answer actually seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails.

"What do you want John?" Bobby prompted him wearily. If he actually managed to get John off the phone, he might be able to get back to sleep.

"I need your help with some research, and we might need an extra hand on this hunt if you're up to it." John was picking up steam again.

"Sure. No problem for either. I'm not working on anything at the moment. Where are you?"

"About 15 minutes from your place. Put the coffee on." And with that John hung up.

_Damn cell phones_, Bobby thought as he hung up and swung out of bed.

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It had been a few months since Bobby had seen John and Dean. He hoped that they had started to get over the loss of Sam to Stanford. John had thrown himself even further into his work, becoming increasingly oblivious to everything else and everyone else around him. He was a conflicted wreck. On the one hand, he was so proud of Sam. He knew that Stanford was what Mary would have wanted for her baby. But on the other hand, he felt betrayed and abandoned. Outwardly, he stormed that Sam had betrayed his family and his mother's memory. Inwardly, he was crushed by Sam's rejection of everything he stood for. Sam's rejection of any good that John had ever done.

But John was a master of suck it up and just get on with it. He buried his feelings about Sam as far down as he could. At least he thought he did, but those around him knew those feelings were still messing with his head. He had become increasingly erratic. He was finding it harder to get fellow hunters to hunt with him because he was turning into a loose cannon.

Bobby was almost afraid to see Dean. The last time he'd seen him he'd been a mess; he'd been hurt on a hunt and that was on top of not having been doing well to begin with. He had been almost mute since Sam had left. He blindly followed his father's orders, never questioning anything. He'd been sick when Sam left and had never quite gotten over it.

INSERT MISSING SCENES HERE…….

"John. For once in your life, put that boy before yourself and your damn crusade." Bobby held the shotgun steady on John.

John just glared at him.

"You are going to get him killed. He'll follow your damn orders straight into Hell if you let him. Damn it, he'll follow your damn ass there whether you ask him to or not."

"Fuck off, Bobby. This is none of your concern." John growled.

"The hell it isn't. You made it my business the day you started coming around here. The day you started leaving those boys with me." _And let me learn to love them like they were my own._ Bobby didn't say the last part, but it came through loud and clear for Dean. John was too lost in the hurt and rage that had consumed him that it was lost on him.

"I'm leaving, Dean. Now. Get your ass in the damn Impala." And with that, he whirled around and slammed out of the door.

Dean stared at the door and then slowly turned his gaze to Bobby. Bobby still held the shotgun at the place where John had been standing.

Emotions ran across Dean's face like sunlight filtering through the canopy of a forest. Anguish. Gratitude. Sorrow. Loss. Hope. And Bobby could hardly hope to see love. But in the end, the anguish won out. Once again, those who professed to care for him were pulling him apart.

"You don't have to go, Dean. There will always be a place here for you." Bobby pleaded with the boy.

"I'm sorry Bobby. He's my dad. He needs me." Dean limped toward the door, devastation clearly displayed on his face.

When the door shut, Bobby was convinced that he would never see the boy alive again. He heard the Impala roar to life, but it barely registered when the shotgun finally fell from his hands to the floor.

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"You have to believe me, Sam. I was trying to help. I knew Johnny was on a downward spiral and your brother really wasn't in any shape to help either your Dad or himself."

Sam's emotions were, as always, clearly displayed on his face. His affection for Bobby was mixed with a liberal amount of gratitude for what Bobby was willing to sacrifice in an attempt to help his brother.

"Your Daddy did try to do the right thing in the end. I firmly believe that. He tried to protect you boys by keeping his distance. I think it was my pushing the made him encourage Dean to do solo hunts. I think it was my pushing that made John leave him. I don't agree with the way he went about it, but in the end, your Dad did try to keep Dean safe. I don't think he had any idea how much he inadvertently hurt your brother."

Sam smiled at Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby. I think I'm finally past the point where I want to see Dad as the villain all the time. This helps so much to understand what was going through his head. And I think I have a better sense of why Dean made the deal."

"Maybe I was out of line..."

"No." Bobby and Sam both spun to find Dean standing in the doorway.

"Dean. You ok?" Sam half rose at the sight of his too pale brother. The cut and bruising on his forehead standing out starkly.

Dean grinned that damn shit-eating grin at his brother.

"Bit of a headache still, but I'm good."

Dean moved into the room and up to where Bobby was sitting.

"You weren't out of line, Bobby. I knew it at the time, but I didn't have the balls to tell you."

"Dean." Bobby stood up. "I'm sorry. I put you between a rock and a hard place."

"Don't be sorry."

"It's my fault your Dad took off on you."

"Not like you to take credit for one of my Dad's boneheaded moves," Dean teased. Sam gaped at Dean's criticism of their Dad.

"He was trying to protect you, Dean," Bobby stressed quietly.

"Yeah, Bobby. He did what you were doing. He did what family does. They try to protect each other."

Bobby smiled at Dean.

"And Bobby, you've been family for a very long time." Dean stepped forward and pulled Bobby into a hug. Sam smiled.


End file.
